


The crane and the swan

by mintyrosetea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derogatory Language, Historical Inaccuracy, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyrosetea/pseuds/mintyrosetea
Summary: JAPANESE AND SOVIET BONDS STRENGTHENING THROUGH SPORT?March 1959 - FIGURE SKATING WORLD CHAMPION Viktor NIKIFOROV from the U.S.S.R. completed his short program yesterday with a very good score of 92.2. After the program, the Soviet skater was assisted in taking on his skate guards by the Japanese skater Yuuri KATSUKI before the latter stepped onto the ice for his program. They were seen sharing a handshake in the great spirit of sportsmanship that signify the World Championships in Colorado Springs. more on page 8. →________________In a time when homosexuality was considered a disease, and illegal in many places, Yuuri and Viktor fall in love. It doesn’t help that Viktor is from Soviet Russia, with their communist regime, and Yuuri is from a society where old traditions must find a way to thrive in the modern world.





	1. Chapter 1

The reigning world champion had missed a jump.

He had fallen in his last jump. It would cost him a few points, but the short program had been so beautiful, that surely that couldn’t matter?

That didn’t help. Yuuri Katsuki heard the slap the skater received as soon as he stepped off the ice. He saw it too, how the short man in the thick black coat raised his hand, how the soviet skater curled together before the struck his cheek, the force so powerful that the skater’s head moved. His coach had yelled something at him in Russian and threw the blade covers down next to him. The coach continued to yell at his skater, but moved away from him, rubbing his forehead.

Yuuri swallowed, and his head snapped back towards the ice. He shouldn’t think about the other skater. The man was a world champion, if slaps was what worked for him, it was. But still, it had been a hard slap. And Yuuri’s coached had never laid a hand on him with ill-intent. The skater also looked absolutely miserable. Yuuri’s dark brown eyes dared themselves back to the skater who had leaned over, struggling with getting his blade covers on, his hair falling into his face, hiding the humiliation he had to feel.

Yuuri knew that he shouldn’t do anything, that it was between the skater and his coach. But, it was soon his time to go on, and perhaps he was brave because of that? He felt that he had to help the man. Yuuri walked over to him, and grabbed his shoulder. The skater looked up at him, for a moment Yuuri thought that he looked scared, probably thinking it was his coach. Yuuri smiled kindly at him and the skater managed a faint smile, leaning himself towards Yuuri as he got the covers on.

He was blonde, very blonde, and very, very handsome. Yuuri quickly pushed those thoughts away, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. The skater, known as Viktor Nikiforov, stood up. His cheek was slightly red from the impactful strike, and his forehead completely covered in sweat drops. “Thank you,” his English was broken and through the cracks a heavy Russian accent slipped past.

The soviet man extended his hand towards the Japanese skater. Yuuri looked down on it, and then back on the blue eyes, before he reached out and shook it. They stood like that for a moment, before the Soviet coach yelled at Nikiforov again who then moved away, smiling, and gesturing towards the ice. “Good luck!” he said before turning around, moving towards his coach.

Yuuri tried to smile towards him as well, and after a few seconds, his coach patted his back and made him step out on the ice. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Sasuki said. He took Yuuri’s glasses from him. “He’s from Soviet, you should just leave them alone.”

“But he needed help.”

“That whole country need help, are you going to move there?” Sasuki smiled at his young skater. He was too nervous to be on this level. Yuuri was a good skater, but he had problems with his nerves. Sasuki didn’t have any high hopes for him. Yuuri knew that, but he hoped that he would be able to qualify for the final.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri was pleased with his performance. He had not landed the planned triple axel, but the scores he had received was still good enough to let him skate again. It thrilled him, but of course he didn’t let it show. Sasuki pointed out all the faults to him as they made it back to the hotel, and Yuuri listened carefully. “You have a chance at doing really well, Yuuri, and I want you to focus completely at the task ahead of you.”

“It’s my first world championship.” Yuuri spoke silently in the back of the taxi even though the American driver obviously did not speak Japanese.

Sasuki laughed. “It’s the Soviet Union’s second chance and Nikiforov doesn’t seem to let that bring him down. In fact, he is doing exceptionally well. It’s like he doesn’t feel any concerns.” Yuuri hummed and looked back on his hands.

The car stopped in front of the grand hotel. Yuuri had thought it looked like a castle when he had seen it, with its towers, the stone façade. Yuuri had never been outside Japan before, and he had marvelled over the hotel which was so different from anything he had seen himself. Hotels in Tokyo were taller, more modern, but this place felt like a hunting lodge for a European king. All skaters lived at the hotel, but most of them kept to themselves. The Europeans talked with each other, and so did the Americans but with the English. It mostly sounded like mindless chatter. _Perhaps some flirting._

The rooms were different too. Yuuri’s parents managed an onsen back in Japan, so he was used to inns and the hospitality business, but this place was very different. The bed wasn’t half as comfortable, and the room was slightly cold. It was decorated in a very western taste and Yuuri wasn’t sure why there were so many different types of lamps in the room.

Another thing that had struck Yuuri about the new country was how _orange_ everything around them were when the sun had risen the next morning. The mountains were not growing from a carpet of green trees, but instead they seemed to take shapes of the sandy rock below them. At least they were capped with familiar snow.

“You should try and be less nervous, Yuuri,” his coach said when they got into the hotel’s lobby.

Yuuri was only 20 years old, and while he was a very good figure skater, especially in Japan, he was very nervous. In fact, Yuuri was almost always nervous.

Sasuki made him see a doctor, a man who sat in an armchair and stared at Yuuri as the boy tried to explain what was wrong with him. It had not helped one bit, but only made Yuuri feel deeply ashamed of having to go and see a doctor because he was nervous. His mother sometimes asked him where he had been when he returned home, but he never answered her truthfully. What would she say if her son was seeing a psychiatrist?

_“Anxiety,”_ the doctor had said and prescribed him medication, but Yuuri didn’t like them, they made him feel odd. So, he didn’t take them. Either way, how was pills going to help his mind? He wasn’t ill, his body wasn’t infected, there was no virus that could make his brain nervous. He was just nervous because he had to perform. In school with his studies, on practice and at competitions.

There was something much greater that pressured Yuuri’s mind, something that made him feel lay awake in the evening.

His heart fluttered when he saw beautiful men.

Not women. Men.

He had never kissed a girl, nor had he been very interested and while he had lived a few happy years of his childhood in unaware bliss, it had been shattered when he stupidly confessed his love for a boy in his class as a nine-year-old. They, the teachers, his parents, had laughed, saying that it was childish jokes and that he would grow out of being such a little prankster.

And that was how Yuuri had learnt how wrong it was.

But even if it was wrong, Yuuri couldn’t help his feelings. He couldn’t help it. When he closed his eyes and his hands slipped under his sheets he didn’t think about soft shapes and long hair smelling like peaches, but rather the elegant curves of defined muscles, slight stubble and a hoarse, kind voice. He couldn’t help it.

He tried to. Desperately he tried to think of something else, but it didn’t work. So, he let himself have that small pleasure, the pleasure of satisfying himself with his eyes closed, where his thoughts were safe from the rest of the world. If he could have those moments, he could manage, he would get married and he would have children. He wouldn’t let anyone down.

When Yuuri crawled into bed that evening, he had one very specific person in mind. Was that bad? Did he sully him? Yuuri remembered how his fingers had dug into the palm of his hand earlier that day. Viktor Nikiforov was handsome, he was tall but still did magnificent jumps. He was different from anyone that Yuuri had fantasised before, with his blonde, almost white hair, and the beautiful blue eyes. Yuuri took his time, stroking himself leisurely as he thought about how their eyes had met, how Nikiforov had smiled against him.

He thought about the Soviet man’s body leaning towards his thigh, how hard his handshake had been. Yuuri’s breath grew shakier as his hand moved faster and faster.

He thought of his thighs, how they flexed under his pants as he skated. Yuuri wondered how he looked without his clothes, he imagined the fit, strong man next to him, he imagined that it was his hand that moved over his cock, and not Yuuri’s own. He buried his head into the pillow, wanting it to be the man’s neck.

He came.

Slightly sweaty, and slightly uneasy, he had to clean up. He splashed water on his face, staring at himself in the mirror. How depraved could a man be?

He went to bed, this time with the intention of sleeping. He had allowed himself this moment, but that was all, tomorrow he wouldn’t let himself be that weak. Yuuri would just practice, and he would do good.

 

* * *

 

Sasuki sat opposite of the young skater. Yuuri had not been so sure about the food at the hotel when they had first arrived, but the American food had grown on him and he was especially fond of the pancakes, which was what he had ordered that day, together with two fried eggs. His coach stuck to eating eggs, and while he questioned if it was wise to eat new cuisine, he let Yuuri be.

Yuuri glanced over to the Soviet table, were Nikiforov sat, eating silently as the coach was talking. He wondered what he was eating? “Yuuri, today I think you should rest. We’ll practice the program with music this afternoon.”

Yuuri nodded slowly and smiled back at his coach. He wanted to do well, he wanted to prove to the world that Japan was a skating nation. He knew he wouldn’t win, but he wanted to come top ten. It was the third time Japan had entered the World Championship, and it had not gone that well for them so far. This year, Yuuri was the only skater. No woman had qualified.

Perhaps Yuuri was watching the Soviet table too much, because he noticed when something began to stir in the corner of is eye. He heard someone laugh, and a rather angry (but he honestly couldn’t tell if it was angry or if he was just imagining it as Russian was such a harsh language) voice speaking. He looked back towards the table, and Sasuki looked back into the book he had brought with him. He saw Nikiforov. It was him who had laughed, and his coach was busy talking his stern words. Yuuri thought about yesterday evening and he felt his face growing warmer.

It was fine though, it was all in his head. No one knew what he had done.

He saw how the skater stood up. He was holding a newspaper. Yuuri looked at him, wondering where he was going until he realised that the man was coming towards him. He quickly looked back down at his plate, but that didn’t seem to stop the skater who soon cleared his throat, standing right next to their table. The sun was shining in through the window, not being hindered by any mountain or building, and instead illuminating the scene that was being played out. “Good morning!” the voice was much more cheerful than it had been yesterday. Yuuri felt his cheeks blossoming into a deep, red shade.

“Good morning,” he squeaked back. His English was also paired with a heavy accent. Sasuki didn’t speak English, but he understood the basic phrase and glared up at the Soviet skater, who stood there with slightly messy hair and a simple, short sleeved shirt on. Both Yuuri and Sasuki had combed their hair and wore shirts and jackets, as if they were businessmen. There was something youthful over how Viktor dressed, over how he stood.

Viktor held up the newspaper, showing Yuuri the front page. “I thought you would find this fun,” Viktor smiled happily. Yuuri looked at his arms, his wrists and he beautiful hands, before his eyes reached the paper.

The front page of the daily paper in Colorado sported a picture of the two of them shaking hands. They were standing close to each other, both in their suits that they performed in. Even though the picture was in black and white, one could see how blonde Viktor was. One could see that his eyes were blue. Yuuri looked determined, he looked stoic. It was a good picture.

It made Yuuri’s heart beat a little bit harder and he reached out for the paper, which Viktor gladly gave to him. “Can I sit down?” he asked. Yuuri looked at him. Was that wise? Sure, the Soviet man probably knew more of what was fine to do than he did.

But… no.

Yuuri’s heart wanted to say yes. “Please do.” Viktor smiled widely at the man and sat down next to Sasuki, who gave the man a curt smile. They nodded at each other for a greeting. “Read the article, they’re writing about us.” Yuuri smiled, lowering his eyes to read the text underneath the picture. “Thank you for your help, comrade Katsuki.”

The word _comrade_ sounded so strange, yet it filled Yuuri with happiness to hear his name being spilled over the man’s lips. “It was nothing, I was glad to help you. Your coach doesn’t seem like the most helpful kind.”

Viktor laughed when Yuuri said that, looking back over his shoulder. “He can get angry sometimes, he has a short temper. What I do affect him too after all.” Viktor looked into Yuuri’s eyes, but the Japanese man quickly looked away. “I was wondering, do you want to go for a run later? Together? I…” Viktor interrupted himself and looked at Sasuki who was studying him closely, even if he didn’t understand anything. “I don’t want to be in a foreign country and only come back with stories about Mila.”

Yuuri sat silent for a short moment. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

He felt Viktor’s foot under the table. There was a long table cloth hanging over the table, but Yuuri still imagined that someone saw as Viktor stroked his foot against his ankle. It didn’t really come as a surprise to Yuuri, other than the fact that the skater was indeed from Soviet.

The shoe stroked his sock. Viktor continued to smile at him.

This had happened to Yuuri before. In Japan. He wasn’t sure how they knew, or why he didn’t know how he was so sure that he was interpretation things right. But the last time a man had stroked him under a table, he had ended up in an alley, expecting things he had not even imagined existed, things one couldn’t read about in books.

“I’d love too.” The words were clearer, and he kept his foot still, looking into Viktor’s eyes.

Viktor smiled, still stroking his ankle. “Great, shall we meet outside within an hour?” Viktor stood up again, pulling at the chair he had been sitting on. “Keep the newspaper, Katsuki,” he said and once more smiled towards Sasuki before he moved back to his own table, waving good bye.

“What was that all about?” Sasuki asked and grabbed the paper from Yuuri. “What does it say? Translate it for me!”


	2. Chapter 2

Everything had been so different from what they had said it would be.

Viktor Nikiforov had been competing in the European Championships since the Soviet Union was finally allowed to compete three years ago. He had been twenty-one then and considered the best figure skater in the Soviet Union. Viktor and his fellow team-mate, and friend, Georgi Popovich, had been fighting for the top spots since they could compete in the Senior division, but he had almost always come out with the first place.

Which had meant that it was him who was chosen to represent the Soviet Union at the European Championships. He still remembered how it had been, standing in a different city, in a different country. His international debut had been in Paris, a city that looked like Leningrad to some extent, with rococo-houses and memories from the day when France had still been ruled by oppression, fuelling the greed of kings. But different in so many, many other ways from the little bits that he had seen.

Viktor had won a bronze medal at that competition. “You were horrible!” Yakov had yelled at him at the hotel room.  “Your wrists were all over the place!” A few slaps, threats about harder practice and banning Viktor from going to the banquet had made Viktor feel ashamed of his otherwise very good performance. He had considered Yakov a stern, but fair man, so his words had to be right. Bronze was nothing, he should have been able to do better, he should have been able to win.

What would people say back home? The U.S.S.R. was the greatest country on earth, so surely, he should have been able to get more than bronze? Thanks to the socialist regime, he was able to do practice every day and he didn’t need to worry about paying for food or seeing a doctor. He should have every advantage in the world. Yakov reminded Viktor of that several times, and his words had crept into Viktor’s mind, telling him that he had made a fool out of his country, that he could do so much better.

But when he returned home, the newspaper wrote fondly of him, saying that it wasn’t his fault. It surprised him to see that even though he had just taken a bronze medal, people were still nice to him, they still rooted for him. Viktor’s achievements made other people feel proud. The young skater had even met with a few politicians who had shook his hand, telling him that if it wasn’t for the competition being in the West, he would have won. “They mix politics with sports, those bastards,” a politician had said during one of those meetings. “If it had not looked suspicious, they would have given you the worst scores in the group.”

It felt reassuring, and Viktor figured that if he couldn’t win, if they would make it impossible for him to win, he didn’t need to feel that much pressure. If bronze was enough for the hard-working people, then it was good enough for him as well.

The off-season had been spent in Leningrad as usually. He had practiced more ballet, more gymnastics, more cardio. He had a new goal in mind, he wanted to be the next European champion.

In June, things changed.

It had been a cold day, slightly rainy, and Viktor had mostly been thinking about the gymnastics’ hall which he would return to after the doctor’s appointment. The blonde man had been seated on a stool, spinning from side to side as Yakov and his doctor was talking in outside in the hallway. It could have been about anything, Viktor usually wasn’t told about all the boring details of his health. He knew that his heart and lungs were good, and his foot was healed from that time he had broken it. The doctor  had returned with a worried look on his face, turning the papers on his desk. Viktor still remembered how concerned he had looked. “I think you have asthma, Nikiforov.”

Viktor had looked at Yakov who had entered the room together with the doctor. “What?” The young skater had looked back on the doctor who sat still, his finger tapping against the table. As if he was nervous. “What about my skating?”

The doctor tried to calm him down, but he didn’t have any of the charisma of doing so. He spoke about phlegm and tubes, chemicals and what not. Viktor didn’t listen to him. What about his future? He had never done anything else than skate, what would he do if he wasn’t able to do it?

Yakov had placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Viktor. It will be fine.” His voice had been soothing. Viktor wanted to hide his face in his hands, surrendering to the fact that he was ill, Yakov grabbed them, holding onto his wrists firmly. “Mikhailov will prescribe you medication, and it will be like nothing ever happened.” Viktor had swallowed his tears and nodded slowly. There was medication, Viktor had thought as he had tried to remember what the doctor had said. “Won’t it, Mikhailov?”

The doctor nodded slowly. “Yes, although you might experience some troubles with your nerves.”

“Might.” Yakov reproached the doctor. He put a fatherly hand in Viktor’s hair, messing it up. “Everything will be fine, Viktor, don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

Everything had suddenly become much easier.

_How long have I’ve been suffering from this?_ Viktor caught himself thinking after a week. Why hadn’t his asthma been discovered earlier? He took a pill when h e woke up, and when he went to sleep, and it was as if all his issues faded. He could soon do a triple toe-loop with both arms raised over his head for the first time. Yakov had smiled at him. “See, isn’t the medicine doing good?”

“I feel so much stronger, it’s amazing.” Viktor had said when Mikhailov had asked him on their routine check-up.

Viktor didn’t have asthma. The ephedrine was simply used to build his stamina, make him energetic and keep him slim and strong.

He had won the next European Championship, and each one after that. But two years down the line, when he was returning to Paris, this time for his, and the Soviet Union’s, first World Championships, he had started get involuntary nerve twitches in his hands, and trouble sleeping.

“You’re just nervous,” Yakov had stated the words as if it was the truth. Viktor did not question it, and Mikhailov gave him pills so that he could sleep.

He had won gold. It was a year ago.

 

* * *

 

The night after the short program in Colorado Springs, Viktor had laid awake in his bed, thinking about the day. Yakov had forced him to run through the free skate several times over before he had been allowed to go back to the hotel due to his mishap with the failed jump.

Viktor had not thought about his program, or how he had failed himself and others that day. Instead, he thought of Yuuri Katsuki. His small hand, his kindness. When he had seen the newspaper the next morning, he had felt warm inside. “I’m going to talk to him,” Viktor had declared before standing up, not giving Yakov a chance to object.

He had flirted with the Japanese quite openly, as openly as he dared to, in a foreign country. And Yuuri had flirted back.

How had Viktor known that the Japanese skater was bent in that way? He wasn’t sure, but it was just something he knew.

He remembered his first times, how he had stood outside the ice rink, in a small alley, smoking cigarettes with a group of boys he skated with. He didn’t recall the boy’s name any longer, but there had been something in the way that he looked at him, and soon the two, very young, very inexperienced boys, was replicating things they had only heard stories about, outside in a cold December night, after withdrawing from the others.

It continued. Always casual, even if he knew the persons he was with. For most of his teens he met one boy, Dima, rather regularly. Dima did gymnastics and they would go for runs together, and with hearts beating out of both fear and lust, they’d touch each other, rub against each other where they thought no one would see them.

Yakov had caught him once. It had been summer, so the skate rink was empty except for the athletes. The blonde boy had noticed how Dima, had stayed behind. They had looked at each other, taken their time in the shower. Dragged their feet behind them as the other boys left the locker rooms. The two teenagers had not been smart about it, and not very silent either, believing that they were alone. They had been so close to each other, Viktor rubbing his cock between Dima’s thighs, they had looked into each other’s eyes and kissed.

Yakov had arrived unannounced. Viktor had not heard him, and didn’t realise that he was there before he felt a hand in his hair, pulling upwards. Yakov had not said anything to him, but instead pushed him on against the wall and began to beat him up. He didn’t stop until blood streamed down Viktor’s nose and the skater screamed at him to stop.

“If you weren’t good, I’d report you, you degenerate pig. Don’t you ever think about doing something like that again.” Yakov had thrown his clothes at him. “Get your fucking clothes on, Zakharov.” Dima had already tried to get away, and when Yakov spoke, the boy disappeared as Viktor tended to his bleeding nose. They never met again. Ivan was moved to Moscow after a few weeks and Viktor never heard about him ever again.

And Yakov never brought it up after that day.

Viktor had stayed away from it for a couple of months, but soon found himself drawn to the beautiful boys again. It was hard not to, and it seemed like plenty of people around him did the same thing. Viktor had spent years throwing looks around him, testing what touches looked innocent but still got the message across and how to interpret ate the ways that others looked at him.

 Posters and politicians all said it was depraved, that it was a bourgeois illness, but it felt good. Viktor suspected Yakov knew, but since they never spoke about it, he figured that it was fine.

As a world champion, hopefully soon twice, he figured that he could do what he wanted. When he returned to Leningrad it wouldn’t matter if he was a debauched tart as long as he kept it private and continued to smile as he showed off the gold medal. That was all that the government wanted from him.

Viktor had told Yakov what he had decided to do when he returned from Yuuri’s table. “You’re not.” Yakov had said, looking back down to the diagram of Viktor’s free skate.

“It’s just a run.” Viktor tapped the spoon against his empty bowel that had contained porridge. “Please, Yakov.” Viktor smiled at him. “It’s good for international relations.”

Yakov glared at him.

“Just let him go for a run with the monkey,” Mila laughed. Mila Babicheva was skating for the ladies, and she was much worse than Viktor, but at the same time, she didn’t have the same pressure to perform as he did. She was also very free-spoken and would probably get married soon.

“Fine,” the coach had said. “But then we are going to practice jumps in the gymnasium, both you and Mila.”

So, Viktor had changed into his tracksuit, zipping up the red jacket as he looked at his body in the hallway mirror before he left. He had pulled a hand through his hair, the light blonde locks were messy and getting a bit too long, but with a bit of wax and swept behind his ear, it looked rather flashy.

Perhaps a little bit to flashy. Buy hey, he was in America now. He could cut it off later.

The difference of the country he was in and the things he had been told about it was jarring. They had factories, everyone looked healthy and kids weren’t sleeping in street corners. Viktor’s image of the world as a gruesome, greedy and depraved place had faded years ago. Together with the contact of other skaters, he had come to realise that perhaps his own country liked to embellish the truth. But he couldn’t believe that they had lied so much about the United States. He had really thought that America would have more of the awful traits he had been told about.

“Katsuki!” he raised his arm, waving towards the boy who was tying his shoes. He wore black sneakers of the same brand that all Americans did.

The Japanese man was beautiful. Viktor thought he looked much prettier than any picture he had seen of a Japanese person, and it didn’t cross his mind that most of those were caricatures, with cigarette-stained-yellow skin and buckteeth. Yuuri had high cheekbones, a slightly rose tint on his pale skin, and the most gorgeous brown eyes behind his glasses.

The sun casted a long shadow over them and down the main street as its path was obstructed by the hotel itself. The late March weather seemed to be enough for the people of Colorado Spring to move around in spring clothes. Yuuri looked at women in flowy skirts moving in and out of stores, someone was loading groceries off a truck. They talked a lot, ladies, with kids hanging from their skirts, chatting for what seemed like an endless amount of time. Yuri raised his hand towards the other man and got up again. “Good morning Mr. Nikiforov,” he said, his tone polite and perhaps a little bit higher than it would have been if he had been surrounded by others.

Yuuri had talked it through a million times. That it was a bad idea. And yet he still stood outside the hotel.

“Just call me Viktor, Katsuki.”

“You can call me Yuuri, if you’d like.” Yuuri knew that the Soviet Union didn’t believe in classes, or rather that there should be none. It was a bit fussy, and social science was not his strongest class. He knew about the Kuril Islands of course, and that communism was tearing Asia apart. It always seemed gruesome when he read about it. They didn’t use titles, nor did they talk to people in a different way because they were older. It was… interesting, far from the strict environment that Yuuri had grown up with. It seemed disrespectful, but between the two of them? Yuuri quite liked it.

“Yuuri,” the blonde nodded. “Shall we go?” Yuuri agreed and Viktor took the lead, but Yuuri soon caught up with him. They must have looked like an odd pair in the early March morning, Viktor with his blonde hair and bright red suit with the letters CCCP written over his chest, and Yuuri, a tiny Japanese man with black hair and a black, formfitting tracksuit.

“Have you been to the US before?” Viktor asked as they jogged down a street, buildings rising above them on both sides of the wide tarmacked street.

Yuuri shook his head. “No, this is my first World Championship. I haven’t been outside of Japan at all.”

Viktor looked at him. “But your English is so good?” Viktor’s English was the product of teachers that met him at the rink after practice every third day so that when magazines and newspapers wanted to interview him, he could smile widely and say that he was a good skater because of the strength in the Soviet community, making it possible for him to practice every hour of the day “when others are working”. He’d laugh and say that the delicious food helped a good deal too and perhaps chat about the city he was in, saying something about peace and sportsmanship.

“You think so? I study it at university, I hope to become a translator one day.” Yuuri smiled softly. The fact that they could still talk to each other proved that their conversation was much important to them than their run was. “So, if you think that I’m good, I guess that I’ll manage.”

Viktor smiled widely. “Really? A translator? You’re really good, I think that you’ll do well!” Yuuri couldn’t help but to hear the completely honest joy in Viktor’s voice. It made him feel like Viktor actually cared for him

“What about you?” Yuuri asked carelessly. “Are you studying something?”

Viktor’s smile faded slightly. “No, all I do is skating.” Viktor still smiled, but it was obviously strained. The black-haired man realised what he had said and felt stupid as he remembered that their life was very different. Yuuri studied and while he skated, it was just a sport. For the world-champion, life was probably very different, and for a moment Yuuri wondered why Viktor skated. For himself, or because he had to?

Their eyes locked for a moment, Viktor was the first one to look away. Yuuri felt his heart beat faster as the blue eyes looked into his. He wanted to touch Viktor, he wanted to feel his hands on his body. He realised that what he had done the previous evening had not helped him supress his feelings at all, but instead he had only ignited something. It was made worse that Viktor so clearly wanted the same thing.

And there was no way they could have it. “You’re a great figure skater.” Yuuri said with a smile. “I have never seen someone do such a spotless triple axel before.”

Viktor’s smile turned even more beautiful at the compliment. “Thank you Yuuri,” he said and pointed him towards the creek and the dirt path. “I didn’t get to see you skate yesterday.”

“Understandable.” Yuuri said.

“But I’m sure it would have been beautiful.” Viktor was looking straight forward when he said it, but his heart skipped a beat. Yuuri was silent, but that didn’t mean that he had not heard the comment. “I really hope that we’ll get a second spot next year, it’s quite lonely travelling all on your own.”

Yuuri smiled, Japan was much farther away from gaining two spots in the world championships than U.S.S.R. was. “You have the female skater though? And your coach.”

Viktor shrugged. “Mila? She’s alright, but she’s going to get married soon, to a hockey player. It’s probably her last time participating.” Viktor smiled. “Either way, she’s not that fun to be around, and well you saw my coach.”

“He seems really harsh.” Yuuri’s coach wasn’t lenient, but he didn’t hit him. If he wanted to use physical punishment, he would make Yuuri work out instead, but he never laid a hand on him himself. If Sasuki knew of what he thought of when he went to bed at nights, he probably would have hit the skater though.

Viktor nodded. “He likes good results, but he isn’t just cold, he warms up quite well if you’re sweet to him.” Viktor laughed to himself. “He’s like a father, he wants me to do well. For the Soviet Union.” Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss the man’s country. The Soviet Union was a big, hairy beast, spreading communism into Asia and sucking the life out of everything. While Viktor looked healthy, he doubted that things were as nice as the Soviets themselves said, but he wondered if it was as bleak as the newspapers in Japan and the US reported.

The Soviet Union was a strange and elusive empire to Yuuri. He knew about the Kuril Islands of course, and that communism was tearing Asia apart. It always seemed gruesome when he read about it. But Viktor was nothing like that. Viktor seemed nice, and not at all like a rough uncivilized person screaming for equality for everyone. He didn’t seem like the person that would want to kill emperors and spit at religious symbols. He wasn’t harsh or cruel, nor did he look like a malnourished slave. Viktor seemed… normal

“Every athlete wants to make their country proud.” Yuuri’s answer was diplomatic, and Viktor looked at him through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. There was a moment of silence, and Yuuri could tell that the other man wanted to speak to him.

“Let’s sit down,” Viktor suggested instead. Yuuri looked at the bench that they had stopped in front. It was rather cold outside, so people weren’t likely to stroll by. The Japanese sat down on one end, but Viktor sat down in the middle, which led to their thighs touching each other’s. Not by a lot, but enough for them both to feel it.

Yuuri sat silent. Neither of them was sure if the tension was just sexual, or if there was also because Viktor was talking about things he shouldn’t. “You know, I only skate because I’m a horrible ballet dancer. Figure skating was created for those people.” Yuuri dared to place his hand in Viktor’s. “I like skating more now, but I was so sad at first.” Viktor laughed and squeezed his hand.

Their motions were independent from their words, and carefully hidden away, disguised to not look as obvious as one could think.

“I’m happy you chose skating.”

They sat in silence, just holding each other’s hands. It was reassuring, it was different. By now, they both knew that they had been right in their assumptions, that their looks had not been misinterpreted. The small gesture was a confession, not only that they were both homosexual, but also that they were interested in one another.

“You know what I’d like to do?” Viktor pulled his other hand through his hair. “I’d like to eat a hamburger.”

It was not what Yuuri had expected, and he had hoped that the words that would spill over his lips would be something else entirely as he had looked at the Soviet skater. His courage dropped for a moment, but Viktor squeezed his hand. “We could go together?” Yuuri asked carefully.

“I have a friend too, he would probably like to come along.” Viktor said, knowing that the Swiss skater he knew would very happily come with them and when it came to eating with men in restaurants it was always better being more than just two. Unless you were over fourty. “But I have no money, and I’m not sure if I my coach would let me.”

Yuuri nodded, stroking Viktor’s hand with his thumb. “I could pay.”

All of a sudden they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Viktor moved away from Yuuri, but kept his hand in the other boy’s. They both saw someone approach them, an older gentleman out on his morning walk. “I have my own room.” Yuuri spoke, it being the most personal and perhaps open statement of their run. He had invited the man to his bedroom. “I could show you my camera afterwards.” Viktor got up, knowing that their conversation was registered by the man, who probably wouldn’t think anything off it, but why take a risk? Yuuri knew too, hence the mention of the camera, a subject they had not even touched on before.

The man passed them, walking as far a way from them as possible, clearly avoiding them. Probably more because of Viktor’s jacket and Yuuri’s complexion rather than that they had been sitting together. “I’d love to see it,” Viktor said. They looked at each other and Viktor smiled.

“Let’s see each other at 7? In the lobby?”

“For American cuisine.”


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor had not gone straight back to his room after him and Yuuri returned to the hotel. He had run up the stairs to the first floor, were he went to visit the Swiss skater, Christophe Giacometti. The only one that was close to beating him in this championship, and a very good friend as well.

How long had he known Christophe Giacometti? They had met in Vienna, almost three years ago, when Yakov had let the new gold medallist loose at the banquet. It had been held in a ballroom, and while Yakov had told Viktor to look at the grandeur and think about all the workers who sustained the riches that they would see. Yakov had not been able to prepare Viktor for what he would see. He had never been at any official gathering before, never visited the museums in Pushkin. The grand ballroom with chandeliers hanging from the roof, windows reflecting candlelight and people dressed in their best clothes, made Viktor lose his breathe. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

It had been his first time wearing a tuxedo, which had not been tailored to him, but he still looked good in it, as Viktor could look good in a pair of overalls. “I like your suit.” It was the first words that Christophe had told him, and Viktor had chuckled. They had also looked at each other, like Viktor and Yuuri had, and they had spoken about skating as they moved around the room. Christophe had placed second, and Viktor had teased him about it as they started to joke with each other.

As the hours went on, and they still chatted with each other when no one asked them to dance, or they were congratulated, it became more and more clear that they both wanted each other. Christophe had touched his lower back as they passed through a crowd of people. It was a simple gesture, and Christophe greeted the people they passed, but in French.

“French really sound beautiful,” Viktor had said as they passed the group, Christophe’s hand still on his back.

Christophe had laughed. “You’ve only heard Russian all your life, of course you think French is beautiful.” The Swiss skater had let go of him as a waiter walked past them. Christophe had handed Viktor a glass of champagne; which Viktor had never had before. It was different from vodka and much better than sparkling with wine. “Do you want me to show you _Vienne_?” They had been standing so close to one another, and Christophe’s voice had been low.

They had looked at each other, and Viktor had said yes. They had sneaked away from the party, Viktor complaining that Yakov would beat him if he found out. “I’m not allowed to be on my own,” Viktor had said but willingly followed the other man outside. Christophe had just hushed him and pulled him into a taxi. Christophe had been in Vienna before, he was younger than Viktor, but he knew more. He subscribed to several newspapers, he had been travelling through Europe for years. He had showed Viktor a very, very different part of Vienna from what tourists would see. He took him to a famous bathhouse. Viktor remembered how impressed he was as Christophe, how cool and nonchalant he was as he had walked into the bathhouse. Viktor had asked what it was, why it was open in the late evening?

Viktor had quickly learnt why it was open. Christophe had smiled at him as they were undressing to the noises of sex. Other people having sex, other men having sex. It was a beautiful place, and it was filled with beautiful men. And old men, skinny boys, probably a few prostitutes. They were doing it out in the open, having sex, touching each other, kissing. Out in the open, in a public bath house, with warm steam stroking their naked bodies. It was different from anything that Viktor had ever seen, and while he probably should have thought that the place wasn’t as safe as it felt, he didn’t. The couple had not wasted any time, and Viktor had soon had sex for the first time in his life, on a chaise-lounge under a palm-tree, his hand reaching towards the cool mosaic on the wall as Christophe fucked him. He didn’t need to be silent, he didn’t need to worry. He had briefly wondered if the West wasn’t debauched if this is what rich, handsome men like Christophe did, but the thought left his mind quickly.

They had bathed together, talked even more. Not only about the place, or what they had done, but it soon slipped into Christophe questioning Viktor about the Soviet Union. Christophe was praising the west and capitalism as he trailed his finger over Viktor’s skin, while Viktor tried to talk against him. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “We’re not repressed by religion or economic burden.” Christophe had just chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss. Before leaving, they had fucked again, and when they reached the hotel the sun was already rising, some guests eating breakfast. Christophe had kissed him in the elevator, telling him how he would love to see him next year again.

And that was what they had been doing whenever they got the chance.

What he and Christophe had wasn’t awkward. They were happy with the casual nature of their relationship and not only because they knew that they couldn’t have anything else. So, when he asked Viktor if he wanted to go out with them that evening, Christophe had nodded. “Are you interested in him?” the Swiss man had asked the blonde skater as he was getting undressed for his shower.

Viktor had smirked. “Yes.”

“He’s cute.” Chris looked back at him, throwing his shirt towards the Soviet man. “I know someone I’d like to bring; would that be okay with you?”

“The more the merrier, I don’t know him that well, and he seems shy.”

Christophe nodded. “Not everyone can be a charming smooth-talker like you.” A pair of boxers were thrown at Viktor. “Want to join me?”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had practised figures the whole day under the watchful eye of Sasuki. The man’s steps were lighter than before, and if he had been doing anything else than figures, he would have thought about Viktor’s hand stroking his, his thin fingers stroking his skin. Their bodies touching, if even just slightly. They had talked about music and skating as they had been slowly running back to the hotel, and Yuuri had so badly wanted to kiss him.

But they were practicing figures which needed Yuuri’s full attention. He would take off and with a steady foot he’d skate with precision, studying the lines in the white sheet of ice as the blade should dig into the line he had made. The turns had to be precise and strong, the tracing had to be clear. Yuuri’s figures were good, and it was what he was truly good at. He couldn’t land any triple jumps, and barely could do doubles, he was artistic and had good step sequences. Figures though, took precision, a slow steady foot and control, and he was great at them.

It was like calligraphy. Yuuri loved drawing up figures before performing them, the more intricate the better. Sasuki and the people of Hasetsu loved them, but he knew that the most important figures were those that the used in competition, and those was the one he was practicing that day.

“I’m thinking about going out for dinner tonight?” Yuuri said to Sasuki after they had changed the figure that he would practice, going through the diagram even though Yuuri knew how it went.

Sasuki nodded and gave him a short smile. “That sounds nice, we should allow ourselves to experience the country. Where would you like to go?”

Yuuri’s heart sank in his chest. “I-,“ he stuttered. “I was invited by Nikiforov.”

The mood changed entirely, and the coach looked sternly on his skater. “That man is trouble, Yuuri.” Yuuri looked down on his skates, lightly tapping the spikes into the ice. “He’s a commie, he’s a tool for the government and all he and his coach want is to get more pictures like that one yesterday.”

“You’re young and do not understand politics, but you know about the Kurils, don’t you? About Korea, about China. The U.S.S.R. are a threat to the whole world, towards Japan, and just because they have a world champion that pleases the eye, doesn’t mean that they’re not ready to wipe out the Earth.” Yuuri swallowed. _Viktor_ wasn’t like that though, he wasn’t a part of those that did bad things, he was soft and sweet and he liked Yuuri. “You’re old enough to remember what atom bombs do.”

Sasuki, who was in his late forties, looked at Yuuri who lowered his eyes. He remembered it, even if he had barely been seven when the bombs had dropped. He remembered the newspapers, he remembered it all.

But that had been the Americans. Not the Soviets, and not Viktor. Going to dinner with a skater wouldn’t mean the end of the world. There was a long silence before Yuuri could speak. “It’s just a dinner, not an appearance at the UN,” Yuuri said and looked up at his coach again. “Please, it won’t just be me, he knows a Swiss skater and-“

“Fine.” Sasuki crossed his arms. “Since I can’t talk sense into you, I guess that you’ll just have to live your own mistakes.”

Yuuri knew that Sasuki’s words meant that he didn’t want him to go and that he hoped that Yuuri would use his better judgement. But Yuuri had gotten dressed that evening after practice, and went down into the lobby, effectively ignoring the man, even though he wasn’t sure that he dared to. Sasuki said he was going to be in his room the whole evening, and looked at Yuuri. “Don’t come back too late. The figures are tomorrow,” he had reminded him before closing the door.

Yuuri was nervous, his black hair slicked back, the glasses on the tip of his nose, framing his face. He wore a clean shirt, a dark blue blazer with black pants, and he had polished the shoes. It was a bit like a date, wasn’t it? And of course, there was the promise that Viktor would come up to his room after the dinner. That part made him very nervous, even if he of course had been the one to invite the man.

Yuuri’s experience with boy was not less limited than Viktor’s, but it was less daring. He didn’t seek anyone out and he was always cautious. Japan was a bit more lenient with people like him, it wasn’t illegal like it was in the United States and other countries. But it wasn’t looked upon with kind eyes. Yuuri had fooled around with a boy in high school when they should have been doing their homework. They had been as close to a couple as one could be, and when he had moved to study at university, his connections had become more casual.

That was when he started to feel bad about it, about what he liked. He had read about it in a paper, about homosexuality and how bad it was for the moral character, how it wouldn’t help Japan, how it was _wrong_. Yuuri had grown more silent, more secretive, and most of all he had grown ashamed. Yuuri had always known that he wouldn’t be able to live his life with a man as one would with a woman, nor had he thought much about the married life. But the thought of people finding what he did in private disgusting and immoral, broke him.

An art history student he dated had shown him shunga paintings in a book he had, placing it in Yuuri’s lap as he sat behind him. There were pictures of everything, of women and men, women and animals, men and men. Yuuri had never seen something like it before, even if he had of course heard about it and seen crude reprints. Yuuri had giggled and suggested they should try it out themselves. “No, Yuuri, I wanted to show it to you, because, see this was normal before Europe fucked us over,” the man had been kissing him as Yuuri had watched the drawings. “Completely normal, even respected. And now, this is us, hiding in my room, having to be silent.” The man’s lips had sucked on Yuuri’s throat. “All because the American pigs and their fascism.” The man whined about Taiwan and Korea, about the bombs and Japan’s lost empire as they continued to make-out.

While it had raised Yuuri’s spirits to know that his ancestors didn’t feel as the country did, he still felt ashamed. He had learnt more of the art of watching, of gentle touches, but he didn’t dare to do anything unless another boy did something first.

And he was still ashamed. Yuuri told himself that once he finished university, he would stop. He’d find himself a girl, get married and live happily. So, he allowed himself touching himself, allowed himself to be with other boys his age. To rub against them, to see them naked, to shag with them. He wasn’t ashamed when Nikiforov came out the elevator, wearing a simple striped shirt and a pair of black pants, but he would be when he had to look at his mother, when he would read about how horrible he was in medical journals. Viktor was together with the swiss skater that Yuuri knew and admired as much as he admired Viktor, the other man was dressed in a polo-shirt and a blazer, with dark pants.

Viktor saw the Japanese and waved at him. “Yuuri, this is Christophe Giacometti, the person I spoke about.”

Yuuri shook the man’s hand. He would be having dinner with two famous skaters, two very good skaters. “Viktor speaks so well of you, Mr. Katsuki,” Christophe said. “Can I call you Yuuri?” Yuuri nodded and the man continued to speak. “I invited a friend of mine, an American who I think we all desperately need tonight.” Yuuri didn’t mind, he had not expected to be alone with Viktor, so another party would just make things even better. “He’ll be waiting at the restaurant.”

“Oh, he lives here?” Yuuri asked.

“Indeed, a Colorado Spring’s resident. You saw him yesterday; his name is Leo de la Iglesias.” Viktor looked at his friend and wondered how many times he had slept with the American. Viktor had apparently met him last year, but he didn’t recall his name. A name that didn’t sound American. Viktor didn’t care though, he liked meeting new people and he really wanted to spend some more time with Yuuri.

Viktor moved first, pulling on his coat that he had carried over his arm. “Shall we go then?”

They took the bus to the restaurant, an American diner that was busy as it was a Friday evening. Christophe had called Leo from the hotel and asked him if he knew a good place to eat in. Leo stayed at home instead of living at the hotel with the other skaters. It was his home town after all. Leo had suggested his favourite diner and waited for them outside in a baseball jacket. It would serve all of them, and he had worked there when he was younger and skating didn’t take up as much of his time.

He was nineteen years old, and had won the US nationals, being the first Latino to do so. He was proud of that achievement and thought that God had blessed him with the strength to do so. While he was weary of the Soviet man who they would meet, he told himself that he would be nice to him. And he was Christophe’s friend, so surely, he couldn’t be that bad. He knew some Japanese people, and they seemed all right, having changed since the war, and Yuuri Katsuki had been sweet yesterday. It would go fine.

“Leo!” Christophe said as they approached. They all introduced each other, Viktor realising that he did know who Leo was. Leo smiled pleasantly towards all of them. “So, these two come from the other side of the world, and have never tasted something as delicious as a hamburger,” Christophe said dramatically.

Leo laughed. “Well, they’re about too, don’t listen too much to Chris, it’s good but there’s better food around.”

“I’ve heard far too much about hamburgers not to believe it’s what American’s eat for Easter,” Viktor laughed. There was a bit of tension between the American and the Soviet Russian. Viktor felt it, and so did Leo. They were supposed to dislike each other after all, they both threatened one another’s country, and the end of the world. But both was determined that sportsmanship was more important than their own feelings.

Leo took the lead, heading towards the entrance. The building didn’t look like a restaurant to Yuuri, it looked more like a gas station without the gas pumps. It was a low building, with neon lights on the outside spelling out the name. There were large windows, making the busy inside seem even more crowded. “Perhaps it’d be better if you didn’t talk too much though,” Leo said as he looked at Viktor with a small smile.

“Is my accent that strong?” Viktor chuckled

Yuuri chuckled at their words, but thought that it was probably a good idea. He was a little bit nervous himself about moving around so freely, but so far it had all gone well. And if they would welcome Leo to the restaurant, then surely, they would be willing to serve Yuuri too. But Viktor, Viktor’s accent made him obviously Russian. Perhaps they’d think he was a communist or a spy, or just… the Soviet he was.

“It sounds like you were taught English by Lenin himself.” Christophe jokingly hit the man’s shoulder and Viktor indicated that he would be completely silent and not speak to the staff. Leo smiled and opened the door, letting Yuuri in first before following.

They were playing music, and the diner was packed. Everyone was busy and Yuuri didn’t think that anyone would have noticed if Viktor had been wearing a shirt with a sickle and hammer on it. A waitress approached them, chatting with Leo when Chris wasn’t flirting with her and she found them a table. Viktor smiled at Yuuri as they were guided through the busy table, and he jokingly kept his lips shut, as if he was really trying not to speak. He was very silly, Yuuri thought. It was very cute. They got a table to a window, and Viktor gestured for Yuuri to sit down first on the padded bench, before sitting down next to him.

“Here’s the menu’s, call for me when you’ve decided!” the waitress said, smiling at Christophe before setting off again.

Yuuri looked through the menu, which seemed vast and he wasn’t sure he understood everything. “I’ll just have whatever you have Leo,” he said and put the paper down in front of him.

“That’s an excellent idea, I’ll do the same.” Viktor smiled at the American.

Christophe shook his head. “Don’t you have any will of your own?” he asked, making Yuuri chuckle.

“Do you want milkshakes, or coke?” Leo asked, ignoring Christophe, and smiling at the men sitting opposite him. Perhaps, Leo thought, Viktor would fall in love with the delicious food instead of eating gruel and beetroots. He didn’t have as a set mission, but he hoped that he could give Viktor a positive experience, maybe he would then talk about it when he got back home?

They talked about their performances at the competition as they waited for the food. All of them were doing well after their short program, with Viktor and Christophe at the top. Christophe complained that they would have to do figures tomorrow, and hoped that they wouldn’t have to do those that he found the most difficult. “Yuuri, you’re good at figures, aren’t you?” Viktor had asked, only to have an excuse to look at the boy again. Yuuri had nodded slowly and they had talked about how much precision it took, if it was better to trace or adjust the pattern, if anyone ever liked to draw their own diagrams to practice after.

The conversation continued as they got the food. It looked very good and very different from anything that Yuuri had ever had. Golden, crispy fries contrasted the rather sweet, cheesy hamburger. Viktor honestly didn’t think that he had had anything that tasted that good. The vegetables, the spiced patty, the soft bun, the sauces, and the cheese all melted together into the most delicious sandwich he had ever eaten. “Vkusno!” he exclaimed to Christophe’s delight. Leo had felt proud.

They talked about food and figures, mixing the subjects together. Yuuri told them about tempura, and the subject changed to Japanese cooking, which Yuuri gladly talked about. They all joked and laughed, and Yuuri explained the concept of raw fish and forming rice into balls. He poured admiration over his favourite dish, katsudon, and Leo was thrilled that another country liked to fry meat. “When they throw the Worlds in Japan, you’re taking us out for dinner, Yuuri!” Leo had laughed.

Christophe was soon talking about how Swiss cuisine was the best of the European kitchen, it being a mix of Italian, French and German, and he spoke fondly of fried cheese and melted cheese, and cheese over all. Leo began talking about his mother’s food, about the spices and herbs, how it was much better than burgers, and they should all come and eat it if they felt like it. “It’s another part of American cuisine for sure!” the American skater said with a big, bright smile on his lips.

“You’re not American though, right?” Viktor said with a smile.

Leo let go of the straw he had been toying with in the vanilla milkshake he had gotten. “I’m American?” he laughed a little bit, unsure of what the man talked about.

“No, but I mean, you don’t look American, and you don’t have an American name.” Viktor’s questions were kind and he only meant well. He didn’t know Leo’s struggles and even if he had, he probably would have pushed his point.

Yuuri noticed how there was some tension around the table. “Well, my parents weren’t born in America, but I was and such, I am a citizen of this country. My name or heritage doesn’t matter.”

Viktor nodded. “Aren’t you afraid here though?”

“Afraid?” Everyone in the group looked at Viktor. Christophe had thought that Viktor had come so much further, had he not read him newspaper clippings and talked to him about the wrong-doings of the Soviet Union? Yuuri looked at the handsome man next to him and wished that he would just be silent. Leo was feeling more and more offended at the man sitting in front of him. Why was he suddenly questioning him on his nationality? On his heritage?

Viktor didn’t seem to notice the tension. “I mean, with all the racism? Like how they treat blacks like a sub-human class?” Viktor grabbed another fry.

Leo took a calm breath. What was he supposed to answer to that? “Viktor, he’s not black though.” Christophe said. “He’s Latino, they’re not as…”

“I read that they’re not nice to the Hispanics either.” Yuuri barely knew what the word Hispanic meant and Viktor pronounced it funny. “I’m just happy that in the U.S.S.R. we don’t have a problem with racism.”

There table went completely silent. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say, and he wasn’t sure he should remind Viktor that his country sent people to work-camps and who knew what they did these days. Christophe was the first to break the silence by talking. “What are you talking about, you nutcase?” he said. “There’s no racism because minorities don’t mix, you don’t have a history of slavery…”

“Exactly,” Viktor said, nodding as if Russia’s non-existent participation from slave trade made them better than the other country. “I train with a Kazakh, and no one have any problem with him.”

Leo was happy that he had Christophe on his side, because he really wanted to yell at Viktor. “I am glad for your sake,” Leo said. “I am fine here, and God helps me through any struggles that I might have.” Christophe quickly intervened as he knew that Viktor would start talking about how there was no god, and space-programs and all that stuff that they spoon-fed him. It was kind of sad to see.

“Does anyone want a sundae?”

Yuuri was happy that the conversation died out, it had been tense around the table and Yuuri wasn’t sure that Viktor had the right to say the things that he said. He wanted to leave so he lightly stroked Viktor’s knee under the table and smiled at him when Christophe suggested getting dessert. “I think I’d rather go home, I’m feeling tired and honestly I’m completely full.” Yuuri smiled at Leo. “This was really tasty though!”

Viktor got what he meant with his body language. “I’m full too, but it was lovely. Better than most things I’ve eaten!” Viktor smiled brightly.

“You two should head back, I’m going to stay with Leo,” Christophe said. “I’ll pay, don’t think about it.” Viktor smiled and thanked his friend.

“No, no, that’s not fair!” Yuuri said and tried to offer money to the Swiss man who just laughed and waved his hand, saying that he didn’t need any payment and that it was just a dinner anyway. Viktor pulled at Yuuri’s wrist to get him going, and after saying goodnight, the Japanese and Soviet men went out into the night.

It was a lot colder now and they walked close to each other. They didn’t speak, and Yuuri quickly forgot about the conversation at the dinner table. “Do you still want to come to my room?” Yuuri asked him.

Viktor looked at him and on the deserted street, he grabbed Yuuri’s hand, squeezing it tightly before letting go.


	4. Chapter 4

“That just sounds like the scouts, Viktor,” Yuuri laughed as he opened the door to his hotel room.

“Scouts?” Viktor asked. “Do they also go camping? And sing songs?” Viktor said and got into the room. “I was so bad at school they barely let me join though, skating took up way too much of my time.” Viktor had been talking since they had gotten on the bus and seen an advertisement for canoes. Yuuri had gladly listened to his childhood memories of something that greatly sounded like the scouts, even the motto was the same. It wasn’t called the same thing, and while Yuuri had been in the scouts as well, Viktor made it sound like everyone had to be in the Soviet version of the scouts.

Yuuri laughed, closing the door behind them. He felt a bit nervous, but getting to the hotel had gone so quickly that he barely had had the time to think. He had not even thought about the fact that Viktor had followed him back to his room without asking, without seeming nervous. “Yes, we went camping, and I swore to always be _strong, mentally awake and morally straight_ ,” Yuuri repeated from memory.

Viktor whistled at him as he walked around the room. “You’re clearly a terrible scout then,” he said, dropping his coat over a chair and winking at Yuuri who blushed a bit.

“What did you promise?” Yuuri asked, moving into the room himself, now happy that he had a room on his own, no matter how strange it looked.

Viktor chuckled and looked back at Yuuri. “Honestly, I can’t recall. To follow the rules and study hard I guess.” The man shrugged his shoulder and looked at Yuuri. He did remember the words but doubted that mentioning Lenin was going to turn Yuuri on.

Viktor pulled down the curtains. They were at the third floor, but it was still better to be cautious. Even in a locked room, hidden away from everyone to see, they couldn’t be too careful. Viktor knew that it was one thing to have sex in public when everyone agreed on it, but another to have even the most silent, careful sex when someone on the other side of a thin wall could call the police.

The blonde man was the one who moved. He grabbed Yuuri’s waist and leaned over to kiss him. It was as if he had been waiting to do so for days, and now when he finally had the opportunity to kiss him, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Yuuri leaned his head back, welcoming the kiss. His mind wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts about whether it was wrong or not when he kissed Viktor, when his hands stroked Viktor’s back.

They both agreed on that this was something that they wanted, and things had quickly gone from stroking each other’s hands in the most secretive way, to hungrily kiss each other. Yuuri wanted it so badly, he need Viktor and he had not been able to get him out of his head. When he went back to Japan, he wanted to only have fond memories about the man, he wanted something to stroke himself too as he bit down into his pillow. His heart felt light and things were easy with Viktor. “Fuck me, Viktor,” Yuuri told the other man, his arms wrapped around Viktor’s neck, and his body rubbing against his. He could be quite brave if he gave himself permission.

“How do you want to do it?” Viktor asked, his hands pulling Yuuri’s shirt out of his pants, wanting to touch his skin.

Yuuri wasn’t that brave though, and a blush spread over his cheeks when he leaned in and whispered in Viktor’s ear. “Fuck me like you’d fuck a girl, Viktor.” He didn’t quite know what else to tell him, and what he did know, sounded so medical, too clinical. Yuuri pressed a kiss on Viktor’s throat, mostly to hide his slightly embarrassed face.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asked surprised.

Had he said something wrong? Wasn’t it clear what he wanted Viktor to do? Was there other ways to have sex in than by getting fucked and doing oral? Sure, they could masturbate together, but if Yuuri had the option to choose, he would much rather have sex. “Isn’t it what you do?” Yuuri asked, his cheeks warm as he peeked up at Viktor.

Viktor had only had anal sex a couple of times. It always seemed to be painful (although when he had it with Christophe, it didn’t hurt), and it was almost… almost like having normal sex. Normal sex with a girl. Viktor’s casual encounters at home, in Leningrad, was mostly rubbing against each other and a whole lot of oral. “I want to fuck you,” Viktor said, not answering Yuuri’s question.

“We could do something else?” Yuuri on the other hand was more used to getting fucked than rubbing up against someone. Of course, it all happened depending on the partner, but he had had a whole lot more than Viktor had had. It was more common in Japan, but neither of them knew that.

So, to Viktor, Yuuri seemed brave and even more enticing than before, while Viktor’s person grew even sweeter in Yuuri’s eyes. “No, I want to do it, really badly,” Viktor said and slipped his hands down into Yuuri’s pants.

They ended up on the bed, limbs tangled together as they undressed each other. It was as if they were attached by their lips, because none of them let the other one escape from the kiss. Viktor finally broke loose, only to place kisses all over the other man’s body, sliding down to his cock. Yuuri buried his hands in the man’s beautiful golden hair as Viktor sucked his cock.

Even though Viktor had been the one to protest at first, he was very sure of himself when it came to the sex. Yuuri liked that, he liked that Viktor took control and guided him, not giving Yuuri any time to think if he looked good, if he sounded alright. He didn’t have any time to worry, and even if he had been worrying, Viktor’s words would have soothed him quickly.

Afterwards, Viktor held Yuuri in his arms, kissing his head from time to time. They didn’t say much, but just enjoyed each other’s company. “I wish I could stay the night,” Viktor sighed. “I wish I could wake up next to you.”

Yuuri sighed into the man’s chest. The thought of Viktor leaving weighed him down. Who knew when they’d see each other again? “Come visit me tomorrow,” Yuuri said, looking up at him. “Just for a couple of hours?”

“Before the free skate?” Viktor asked. “I think we should sleep…”

Yuuri interrupted him. “I won’t be able to sleep.” The boy smiled shyly at the world champion.

Viktor chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to then.” The man still had to leave and Yuuri had to watch him get up from the bed, and while he pulled the covers close to himself, it wouldn’t get as warm as Viktor’s body heat had made him. Yuuri looked as the man got dressed, Viktor making some jokes and being as optimistic as he always seemed to be. “Yakov will be pissed with me,” he said.

“You’ll be fine though, right?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor leaned over the smaller skater and kissed him again. “Figures tomorrow, good luck.”

 

* * *

 

Yakov stood with his arms crossed next to Viktor as one of the judges got down on his hands and knees, inspecting the lines. To other skaters, that would be a good thing, it would mean that their tracing was near perfect, but to Yakov Feltsman, it just meant that his skater had not done well enough. There was no reason for the figures not to be perfect, the body was a machine after all. “This is the worst fucking figure you’ve done, Viktor,” Yakov hissed at him.

“You know I’m bad at figures.” Viktor smiled at the judges, some of them looking a bit worried about the Russian language coming from Yakov’s mouth. And probably the coach’s look as well. Viktor thought he had done well, and he didn’t like doing figures, he thought they were dull and took up too much time.

Yakov scoffed. “I know that I shouldn’t have let you go out. Were you together with that chink?”

“Mhm,” Viktor said smiling at another judge as Yakov’s tone probably sounded as if he was going to beat the judge who gave Viktor a bad score. “And Giacometti and the American skater.”

Yakov fell silent. “American.”

“Yes Yakov, the American. Leo de la Iglesia.”

“I have nothing against comrade Giacometti, he has sane ideas and seem like a good man.” Christophe had given Yakov bottles of French wine every time they met, and the man didn’t connect the dots, but gladly let Viktor go out with him as long as he did good the day after. Viktor had perhaps said that Christophe liked socialism and had read the Manifest s well, but just to make him appear better in Yakov’s eyes. “But an American?”

“He’s not a real American, he has suffered the hardships of capitalism. He was just fine, Yakov, please.” Viktor smiled at the judge that got up on his feet nodding and noting something down in his notepad.

Yakov looked angrily at the judge, as if he would rip him a new one. Viktor did well, but not because of Yakov’s sour expression.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stood next to Sasuki, breathing nervously as he looked at the figure he had produced. They were all doing the same ones of course, and Yuuri had done it very, very well. “You did a great job, Yuuri,” Sasuki said proudly, holding his own notebook in his hand. “You will definitively be in the top ten if you do well at the free skate.” The man was noting down the numbers they were getting from the smiling judges, counting and calculating their chances at winning based on the scores.

The young skater didn’t know if that made him more, or less nervous. He was good at figures, they were proof of precision that required his whole attention. It emptied his mind, drained it of worries as he had to concentrate on what he had to do with his feet. The blade sliding over the ice was the only thing that he heard, and the faint, faint line in the white ice was the only thing that he saw. “You think so?” Yuuri asked, looking back at his coach.

Sasuki nodded, but stopped to shake hands with one of the judges. Yuuri shook the man’s hand as well. They went through all the judges and as this had been Yuuri’s last figure, they could leave the ice. It had been a long day, with all the skaters doing the three different figures after each other. Yuuri sat down and watched as Viktor was to do his last figure, the same one that Yuuri had just made. Perhaps he spent a little bit too much time watching the man. “Yuuri, are you listening to me?”

The boy with the glasses looked away from the ice. “What? No, please forgive me, Sasuki-sensei,” he said lightly bowing towards the man. “What were you saying?”

Sasuki looked out on the ice, at the Soviet skater. “Did you have fun yesterday?” It was the first time that Sasuki had asked Yuuri about his private life. Usually the coach stayed out of Yuuri’s life, unless it was to give him advice and guidance. But to ask him if he had had fun, it was very different.

“Yes, I met Christophe Giacometti and Leo de la Iglesia.”

“And Viktor Nikiforov,” Sasuki stated, looking out on the ice. Yuuri looked at Viktor who moved with grace. He didn’t look like he was doing a figure, he didn’t look focused with a frown on his face, and his arms didn’t sway. He did it with so much grace, like he was simply doing a step sequence, as if he was dancing. Effortlessly and with elegance. “Did you think about what I said?”

“He’s not like the others.” Yuuri looked down at the wooden bench.

“Is he about to defect?” Sasuki asked with a slightly bitter tone to his voice.

Yuuri looked up at him. “Tabi no haji wa kakizute,” Yuuri said. _When you’re away from home, you don’t need to be ashamed._

Yuuri ended up being second. Viktor came first in the event. Sasuki told him what he needed to get to end in the top ten after the free skate, as he had finished in the bottom five after the short program.

Sasuki did not bring up Viktor again.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had moaned a bit too loudly. He rested his head against the young Japanese man’s thigh, enjoying the man’s mouth on his cock. “Yuuri,” he said. “You don’t have too.” The slightly salty taste still lingered in his mouth after Yuuri’s climax. Yuuri ignored him and made sure that Viktor had to bite down on his tongue not to wake up the people next doors.

Afterwards, Yuuri held Viktor in his arms, and they spoke for nearly an hour. “I’m nervous all the time, anxious.” Yuuri said, stroking the blonde, beautiful hair. “I see a psychiatrist because of it and I feel so ashamed.”

“Why are you anxious?”

Yuuri sighed. “I want to tell him about this,” he said. “I want to tell him about how I sleep with men, how bad I feel because if it.” Yuuri felt the man’s arm tighten around him, pulling him in closer. “But how can I? I can’t speak of it, and frankly, it just makes it all useless.”

Viktor was silent, not at all sure what he could say to the boy. “I wish I could help you.”

Yuuri sighed. “You’re helping right now.”

“I’ll have to leave soon.”

“We can meet tomorrow again.” The free skate and the ceremony was tomorrow and whilst Viktor would be on the podium, Yuuri would not.

Viktor stroked the man’s back with his finger, tracing out a pattern. “And then what, Yuuri?” Viktor said. “I want to be with you. I don’t want to leave.”

“We’ll meet next year, won’t we?” Even Yuuri heard how that sounded. _They wouldn’t see each other for a year_. “Maybe some other event? Isn’t there one in Nice?”

“I’m not allowed in Nice. I only do Europeans and Worlds outside of Russia,” Viktor said.

Yuuri hugged Viktor closer. “I don’t want to think about this now, let’s leave it for our future selves.”

 

* * *

Viktor’s free skate was done to a waltz. It was energetic, playful and with high technical difficulty. Even though Yuuri’s heart was beating inside his chest from the nerves, he watched Viktor skate from the side of the rink. The tempo looked excruciatingly high, but Viktor didn’t stop smiling.

While other skaters moved to the music, it seemed as if Viktor made the music follow him. He had a softer part in the middle of the program, where he could breathe, but it was just for a short while before the achingly beautiful violins sounded again, slowly working themselves up to a higher tempo, to erupt when Viktor did two triple jumps and a double in a combination. It was so beautiful.

Yuuri understood why he was the world champion. The music didn’t die out, and Viktor were hardly allowed to breathe. But when he was done, it didn’t look like it had taken much effort, except for his chest, rising and falling quickly, as well as a sheen on his forehead.

Viktor did several triple jumps, although most in the beginning of the program, several spins, all executed with the most beautiful grace and elegance. Yuuri had never seen skating done so well, and the applauds he was getting was well deserved. If Yuuri had not been a competitor, he would have also clapped his hands. Viktor bowed towards the judges, and then the audience, before leaving the rink. Yuuri looked over at them, and this time Yakov didn’t hit his student. He simply nodded at him, arms still crossed and with a grumpy look.

All his scores were in the upper fives. Only one scored him lower than a 5.8. Yuuri watched as Viktor nodded to himself, as Yakov spoke to him. “He has won,” Sasuki casually stated. Christophe, Viktor biggest threat, had already skated, and Yuuri, who had nearly beaten Viktor at the figures, had gotten such low points at his short program that it didn’t matter.

Yuuri saw the moment that Viktor realised that, how his face lit up even further. Even the coach looked a bit pleased. Viktor’s blonde hair flew around him as he turned towards Yuuri, who was on the other side of the rink. _He knew I was watching_ , Yuuri thought as their eyes met. Viktor smiled for him. It was only for a second before Viktor looked back at his coach, but it meant everything.

Yuuri was going to skate to a classical piece. He knew every step, every twirl, and every note in the music. He had skated it without any marks on practice many timed the past season, but only once at a competition. It had been his free skate that had allowed him to come to this championship. Yuuri’s biggest fault wasn’t his stamina, or his step sequences. He moved gracefully over the ice, in a nicely tailored suit, his head always held high, and his hands neatly placed. But his biggest flaw was that he couldn’t do any advanced jumps. He could do them all in singles, and he could do a double loop and Salchow, but the latter wasn’t always easy to land. He had never done a triple.

What was worse was that he didn’t believe in himself and he didn’t know how to come back from a fall. If he fell in his first jump, he would fall in every other attempt that he made. Yuuri would slow down, he wouldn’t even jump as high and his rotations would be awful. “You can do this,” Sasuki said, holding the boy’s shoulders. “Think of it as practice.”

Yuuri’s music was soft, and he let his body flow with it. He was thinking about Viktor as he listened to the music softly stroking him as he moved along. It was a good skate, a much better skate than the short program.

He didn’t fall, he didn’t do something clumsy, and over all, he did good. Just alright though, it had been a clean program, but he could probably had done something better and he knew that it was so much worse than anything that Viktor could do. Sasuki smiled at him, telling him how perfect it had looked, but Yuuri couldn’t help but to belittle his own performance.

But the points were alright, and Yuuri looked at them, biting his lips. He waited for Sasuki to say something, and when his coach spoke, it was with an excited voice. “You’ll end up as 9 at worst!” Sasuki told him.

“9?!” Yuuri almost yelled.  He couldn’t believe it and he felt how he almost began crying as he sat next to Sasuki, who patted his back, and making sure that no one was paying attention. It would be the best placement Japan had ever gotten.

And only one person skated better than Yuuri, leaving him with a 7th place.

Yuuri had never been so happy, and while Viktor had a gold medal around his neck, Yuuri was as proud as if he had been the one who won.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had held the bouquet he had gotten in his hand when Yuuri opened the door. “For you,” he had said. It was the dead of night, and while they had not agreed to meet, they had both been sure that the other was awake. They had made love again, twice, and Viktor was, draped in a robe that he had not really bothered to tie properly. “This is the first competition were I really enjoyed being on the ice,” Viktor said as he leaned towards the desk, fiddling with a drawer. “I mean, I like skating of course, but when I knew that you were watching.” Viktor smiled one of those dorky smiled. “I knew I wanted to do my best!”

Yuuri laughed at the man in front of him. He was so handsome, funny and it seemed like they could talk for hours and hours. They already had been talking for too long, and Viktor had been talking about his skate earlier that day. “I live for skating,” Yuuri said with a smile.

Viktor nodded, but he wasn’t sure that he loved skating in the way that Yuuri seemed to. Instead of digging deeper, Viktor pulled out the drawer he had been fiddling with. He looked down to see a camera. “You actually have a camera?” Viktor laughed and took it, taking a picture of Yuuri. He stood still for a moment, then turned around, looking into the mirror. He snapped a picture of himself with a serious look on his face. Then he smiled sweetly against the mirror, and pressed the button again. Yuuri was visible in the background, laying on the bed with his hands over his stomach and watching the skater.

“I like taking pictures, and developing them means you get to spend quite some time alone,” Yuuri said, reaching out his hands for Viktor to come join him in the bed.

Viktor laid down in the bed and kissed Yuuri’s cheek. The blue eyes looked into his. “I trust you, Yuuri,” Viktor said and placed his lips against his cheek again, and raised the hand with the camera in it. He closed his eyes, and Yuuri smiled, before he pressed the button.

_Click!_

If someone found that picture, both of them would be fucked. Kissing someone’s cheek wasn’t that bad in Russia, but in bed, without clothes and with messy hair. Neither of them had any reason to release such a picture and Viktor knew Yuuri would have warned him if he wasn’t allowed to take it. “I’ll look at it often,” Yuuri promised.

“I wish I had something to watch.” Viktor didn’t have a camera, not only because they were expensive and there was no reason for him to have one in Yakov’s eyes, but also because the regime had explained to him that it would look suspicious and make the American’s uneasy. Something about security or something, Viktor had not paid attention.

“You could take the newspaper.” Viktor opened his eyes, looking at Yuuri. Could he? Would they take it from him? Maybe, but it didn’t look suspicious. Anyone who was on the front page of a newspaper wanted to have that paper, didn’t they? Viktor nodded at Yuuri who got up from the bed, pulling at the blanket to wrap around him. Viktor whistled at him.

Yuuri had carefully ripped off the newspaper on the day he had gotten it, and he had kept it in his journal. He now handed it over to Viktor, who looked at it. They both looked so handsome. It was a good picture. “Do you like me, Viktor?” Yuuri asked and stroked the man’s shoulder as he had laid down in the bed again. “I think I like you.”

Viktor looked up at Yuuri. He had not given it much thought, but he did like the man, not just to have sex with him, but to be with him. He had not felt like that for another man before, or at least not reflected upon it. Viktor lusted after men, but he had never thought that he loved them. Did he love Yuuri?

He didn’t want to love Yuuri. This could be the last time they met each other.

And if it wasn’t, it would be the last time they met until the Olympic Games next year.

“I like you a lot, Yuuri,” Viktor said, smiling towards the man before he reached in to give him a kiss. “I think I might would be allowed to mail letters to you,” Viktor said, his fingers locking together with Yuuri’s.

Yuuri looked at him, for a moment not understanding what Viktor meant with “allowed”. “Oh,” he said when he understood. “I thought you were allowed to send letters?”

“Yeah, sure, but to Japan?” Viktor said. “But if I say it’s to the brilliant skater, Yuuri Katsuki, 7th placement in the World Championship and responsible for this-,” Viktor held up the newspaper clipping. “- I’m pretty sure that they would let me.”

Yuuri giggled, but then fell silent, a worried look spreading across his face. “What if I don’t ever get to go to a World Championship again?”

Viktor looked at him, before grinning. “I was thinking we would see each other in the Olympics.” The blonde laughed as the Japanese man’s face was drained of any colour. “Had you forgotten you qualified?” Viktor hugged him tightly. “It’s in California, and then there’s the worlds, so we’ll see each other twice.” _That year._

“Olympics.” Yuuri stroked Viktor’s hair.

Viktor had to leave far too soon, and he joked that next year Yuuri should have to come into his room. The boy didn’t let Viktor go, kissing him as much as he could before the man left.

He didn’t see Viktor at breakfast, and even if he had suspected that he wouldn’t, it hurt.

The Olympics were 11 months away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I really hope you liked it!  
> If you are interested in knowing what music I was listening to when writing about Yuuri and Viktor’s free skate programs, here they are! I have no clue if individual music was used in the 50’s though, but well!
> 
> Viktor: The Snowstorm II. Waltz by Sviridov (a bit short but hey!)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xm8kpZoX32k
> 
> Yuuri: Serenade by Schubert  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXis0PtqdXw


	5. Chapter 5

1959 had been an interesting year for Viktor. A lot of new things had taken place.

Viktor treated skating like his job. He lived together with Yakov, his wife, a famous but now retired prima ballerina from the Kirov ballet company and a few other skaters, so it became natural that the time that wasn’t spent on the ice, on a gravel path, in a gymnastic hall or in front of a barre, was spent talking about jumps and techniques, choreography. From the moment that Viktor woke up, to the moment he laid down in bed, Viktor was thinking about skating. It was his job, and he treated it like a Wallstreet banker in New York was.

Somehow that leaked to the outside world. Apparently, it was unfair that they could practice every day when other countries could not. “They sat that you’re not an amateur if you don’t have another job,” Yakov had said, clearly annoyed. Viktor had not understood the controversy, it was after all thanks to communism that he could do this, and if other countries couldn’t let their athletes devote themselves to the sport, that wasn’t his issue? If they wanted to have great athletes, they could also adopt the great system?

Even if those were his feelings, he had smiled kindly when he was at the press conference for the international press, and he had smiled gently as the chairman for the State Committee for Sports and Physical Education of the USSR promised that it was all rumours, and that all their athletes were amateurs with real jobs. Viktor knew that it was a lie, and Yakov had instructed him to lie through his teeth if anyone asked him.

“What does Mr. Nikiforov work with?” an international journalist had called out in English, taking Viktor by surprise.

Although just for a moment before he had smiled happily. “I am a physical education teacher.” Viktor had grabbed it out of the air, answered a question he shouldn’t have.

It meant that the government had to make his statement come true. So, both Georgi and Viktor had been placed at a school next close to where they lived, to work as physical education teacher for children aged between 9 and 15. Yakov have made a program for them, carefully designing together a program with enough sport, play and running, that it was just like their everyday life. That meant that all they did was spend eight hours a day working out with the excuse that they were teaching kids. Did it matter if they had a bunch of kids running behind them if they ran laps?

Viktor quite liked it and Georgi didn’t seem to oppose it. All the girls were in love with both of them and all boys wanted to hear about competitions and Viktor’s successes. And Viktor gladly bragged as they ran around the course, as they all listened to him and Georgi’s stories. It also felt nice giving back, to help keep the people of the Soviet Union’s future healthy.

One day in May, a journalist from a _Pravda_ , the biggest newspaper in the country, was there to take pictures of him, and Georgie, as he taught the class, and they all turned out well. Even Yakov said so when he saw the pictures in the paper a few days later. Healthy, smiling kids in the May sun, lean and fit as they were being taught by world champion Viktor Nikiforov who looked like the archetype of a Soviet man in lose fitting shorts and a t-shirt (one could almost see that they were red and yellow even though they picture was black and white) covering his healthy, fit body and blonde hair in a nice haircut.

The pictures were frequently used from that point on, and while Viktor thought it was a bit embarrassing to see his face everywhere, he got used to it, and eventually grew fond of the idea that other people thought of him as an ideal.

It had not only been good though. His twitches had gotten worse that summer, about two months after he got his new job, and during the autumn it had been so bad that his arms started to act out as well. Yakov had taken him of the asthma medication, and while Viktor thought it was just for his well-being, he noticed the fact that they were drug-tested for the Olympic Games just a couple of months later. He had begun to think, to finally read the labels, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was breathing alright.

A few days after he stopped taking the drugs, a heavy depression began to set in. He had spent the autumn feeling down. Some days he had barely been able to get out of the bed, he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if it wasn’t for Yakov making him with the threats of violence. Some days he needed a slap to get up. And while he skated as always, tried to hang out with Yuri and Otabek, he had not wanted to do much more. The kids at school didn’t make him feel happy any longer, and everything felt like a chore. Perhaps it had been the fact that he missed Yuuri, that he missed intimacy with someone else. He had tried being with someone else, back in May, but it had not felt the same and for some reason he had felt guilt.

Which was silly, they weren’t going to get married. He had been writing a few letters to Yuuri, and while he received them already opened, it didn’t matter. Yakov complained that he was spending all of his kopeks at the post office, but Viktor didn’t care, and he would lay in bed, reading Yuuri’s letters before he went to bed. It was the only thing that didn’t feel hard to do. But he still felt a terrible ache in his chest, one that had nothing to do with Yuuri.

Yakov told him to get a grip, and at the European Championships, Viktor felt excited and ready to go. He had struggled his way through his quick, energetic program, and as he stood with his hands outstretched, waiting for the music to die out, he had barely been able to breathe. The Soviet skater barely got off the ice before he threw up, not even being able to wait. It wasn’t much, but still.

Viktor lost to Christophe, and if he had not done better figures than the man who won bronze, an Italian, Viktor wouldn’t have ended up on the podium. When they read Christophe’s scores, Viktor was still feeling bad, and sat next to Yakov. It became clear to him that something was wrong. “Maybe I need the asthma medication?” Viktor leaned towards Yakov, not looking at him.

“Perhaps,” Yakov had said, but was mostly concerned with how it looked that Viktor had vomited. He didn’t want the world to see the top skater in the condition he was in. Yakov ordered Viktor to go back to the hotel as he stayed and watched Georgi. There was only two weeks left to the Olympics, and Viktor had not been allowed to go out, or even attend the medal ceremony, but spent the remainder of the event in his hotel room. “I said you had eaten some bad meat,” Yakov had said. “Do not worry.”

And as soon as they had gotten back to Leningrad, Viktor was prescribed his asthma medication again. Life started to feel so much better again. The twitches weren’t there either and he felt MORE ready for the Olympics by every day that passed. He had gotten handwritten notes from the kids he was teaching at school all wishing for him to do well, to make USSR proud, and his body was getting back to what it had been that summer.

All of his eagerness for the competition was far, far from his mind when he first saw Yuuri at the opening ceremony. He wanted to rush over to him, to kiss him. They weren’t living at the same hotels this time around, since an Olympics was such a large event. That same evening Christophe had tried to drag him along to some sort of party, which Viktor really thought was a code word for orgy, at the Swedish hockey-player’s rooms, but Viktor had patiently waited in his room, calling the different hotels until he found the one which Yuuri stayed in.

He had heard his voice for the first time in 11 months that evening, and neither of them had wanted to hang up on the other. Viktor listened to Yuuri as he told him about his life, and Viktor told him all about the teaching job, about his disappointment over the second place at the European Championships, about those things that they couldn’t speak about in writing.

They had made plans to meet, in the dead of night, at Viktor’s hotel after the short program.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s year had passed without any major hiccups. The only thing that had interrupted the normal pace of his life were the letters he received from Viktor.

Viktor’s letters were handwritten, and he had a cute way of exchanging some letters from the Latin alphabet to the Cyrillic as his handwriting became messier and the longer the letter was. While it made the letter a bit harder to read, Yuuri just smiled as he read them. Viktor didn’t speak about anything particular in his letters, but just told Yuuri about his days. When he man had started working, Yuuri had smiled as he imagined Viktor around kids, he could see the man firmly ordering a group of seven-year-olds around. He got the newspaper clippings that Viktor sent him, the pictures being the same that would be plastered all over the Soviet Union, and he kept them in the drawer with the other pictures.

The pictures that Viktor had taken that day in March. The ones he had developed almost as soon as he had returned to Japan. The palms of his hands had been sweaty as he locked himself into the bathroom to develop the them. Yuuri had been quiet, he had even chosen to do it in the evening, when the students were either out or studying, just so that he knew that he wouldn’t be disturbed. He had felt as if the authority was going to knock the door down and arrest him.

The pictures weren’t even that depraved. They looked like friends, and Yuuri could probably say that they were friends, playing around, if someone found them. But Yuuri’s stomach still tingled as he looked at them. Viktor looked so handsome in each and every picture, and when Yuuri looked at his lips, pressed against his cheek, he could almost feel it again.

The pictures and the letters were the only physical thing that Yuuri had. Without them, it could have been a dream. The letters were beautiful, and the only contact that they had with each other for 11 months. Yuuri wrote his on his type-writer most of the time. He was a quick typist, and he sat by his desk, often late at night once he had finished studying. He wrote about his day, his life and where he saw himself going. Neither of them wrote exactly what they wanted, but there were moments in their letters when the words: “my dear friend” came up, and when it did, Yuuri knew that he was about to hear sweet words. It was Viktor who had written them first and followed them up with a love declaration. They were always hidden under the guise of friendship, but it was normal to have male friends, so saying that you missed them, that you wanted to see them again, it wasn’t that strange. No one would suspect that they loved each other like a man and woman did, because no one thought that men could _love_ each other.

Even so, Yuuri felt like he was doing something bad, as if he was doing something wrong, that they would get caught. But so far, they had not gotten in trouble, even though the mail that Yuuri received had been opened and obviously resealed again.

University was easy, the young man spent less time on studying than he had as a teenager, and a lot more time playing tennis, skating and exercising. When he wasn’t doing that, he was together with friends. Yuuri enjoyed the life he was living, and the only time he wished it was different, was when he was thinking of Viktor and the love he felt for him, a feeling that sometimes could overwhelm him. Feelings that didn’t go away just because he touched himself thinking about the man, or if he read his letters. It was a heavy feeling of sadness that stayed in his chest for days.

That summer, he had gone back to Hasetsu when the last examination of that semester had been written. Yuuri had thought that changing the location would mean that Viktor would be easier to forget about, especially as he left the photos and letters behind. He worked at his parent’s onsen, tending to clients, and helping his father with the garden and hot springs. “When are you going to get married, Yuuri?” his mother had asked him, with a sweet, kind voice. “Are you seeing someone?”

Yuuri had brushed his hair back, not sure what to tell his mother. “No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m busy with figure skating and all.”

“And your Soviet friend, right?” his father said, chuckling, and smiling at his son. “I had a penpal when I was younger, not from somewhere as exotic as Russia, but still.”

That Yuuri’s father accepted that he was friends with the man, whom just about everyone else would talk down upon, meant a lot to the young boy. His mother was sweet and kind, but she wanted grandchildren, and his sister had not gotten any yet. So, it was only him left, and as the only son he knew that they expected things from him. But both of his parents let him do what he wanted.

They had always been supporting of him when growing up. His parents had made sure that there was always money over for him and his skating, and they had sent him off to university to read English and Japanese, hardly the most revered programmes, but Yuuri had dreams.

It had paid off.

Yuuri was doing well at University, finishing at the top of every class he took, and of course, he was the best skater in Japan. He was the best skater in Japan that had ever been at the World Championship. Perhaps the best skater Japan had ever had.

Even so, Yuuri felt guilty that he wasn’t seeing any girls. He should be trying to talk to his friends about their sisters, meeting the girls that studied to become nurses and typists. He really should have been trying to find himself a nice girl. Maybe take one out on a couple of dates together with other friends? He should do something like that. Yuuri wasn’t doing any of that, but rather he spent his time stroking his cock thinking about Viktor.

It was pathetic and shameful.

Yuuri almost told his physiatrist why he was feeling as he did. It was the last time that he went. Not because it was planned, but because he couldn’t go back. It had been a Thursday, as always, and early in the morning during September. Yuuri was, as always, sitting on the edge of the plush armchair, his anxiety sky-rocketing. “I don’t feel we are really getting anywhere Mr. Katsuki,” the therapist had said. He always looked completely comfortable. “I do not think you are telling me everything.”

Yuuri had cleared his throat, and hoped that the psychiatrist would speak again, but instead there was just silence. “There is something.” The man still didn’t say anything, and Yuuri felt how he was beginning to sweat. “I feel like I won’t be able to fulfil my role in society.”

The silence was pressing over him. “In what way, Mr. Katsuki? You’re going to school, you have brought Japan great successes in figure skating?”

Yuuri looked down on his hands. “I…” the man swallowed. “I sometimes feel that I don’t want t-to settle down.” It wasn’t the truth, Yuuri wanted to settle down, just not with a girl. He wanted to settle down with Viktor, he wanted to own a house with Viktor, he wanted Viktor to make love to him every evening before they went to bed together. He wanted a dog, or maybe kids. Yuuri had not slept with anyone since Viktor, and he felt as if he already had settled down with the man.

The skater had not said anything after that and left as soon as possible, never to come back.

And now he was walking through the Olympic Valley towards the Europeans hotel. The Olympic city was beautiful. Snow covered the ground and the buildings, which all looked like the best architects designed them. Yuuri and Viktor had already spoken about the indoors arena, Blyth stadium. It wasn’t that common to be inside, or to share ice with hockey players, but it was a beautiful building. Yuuri had said it looked like an Indian tent, just like those you saw in Western flicks. Viktor had not seen any of those, so Yuuri had had to explain it to him, but Viktor stopped listening to him after a while, grabbing his hips and saying something about how he wanted Yuuri to be a cowboy and ride him.

He had been waiting for this moment for ages, and now it was finally so closed.

Viktor opened the door wearing nothing but a robe. “Hello,” he said.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Yuuri said and before Viktor managed to close the door, Yuuri was kissing him.

 

* * *

 

They had met each other every night. They spoke about everything, but most of all they had sex, made out and just spent time together. Yuuri didn’t want to leave in the early mornings, and Viktor didn’t let him go easily.

They were both doing well at the competitions, Viktor was better than Christophe again and was getting the highest scores again. Yuuri felt so anxious and the only thing that calmed him down was when Viktor told him that he was doing well, that he actually was good.

The day of the Free skate, Yuuri was one of the first skaters. He got a good score, but who knew how it would go. They weren’t as many skaters at the Olympics as at the World Championships, so they wouldn’t have to wait for long. Viktor smiled at Yuuri as he passed him, and Yuuri wanted to reach out and kiss him from the happiness he felt over skating a clean program at the Olympic Games.

Viktor did a magnificent skate. He had upped the technical score, and this time he was only panting as he stepped of the ice, not near collapsing and throwing up.

Yakov shrugged at him when he stepped of the ice. Viktor knew that meant that he had done just fine, and he smiled to himself, fetching a towel to wipe some sweat off his forehead. But Yakov didn’t let him sit down. “Go over and tell the Chinese good luck.”

All Viktor wanted was to sit down, his lungs were burning. Fuck, he was getting old. “Why?” Viktor asked and looked over at Guang Hong Ji, the tiny Chinese skater who was doing quite well.

Yakov smacked Viktor’s head. “Because I fucking say so, it’ll look good.” Viktor rubbed the spot that Yakov had hit, looking at him. “I’m not the one who decided it, just go over there.” Yakov stared at him. “If you can do it with a capitalist chink, shouldn’t you be able to do it your own brother?”

Viktor glared at his coach, before shrugging. If it was so important that he greeted the Chinese skater, then he would. Viktor went over to the Chinese boy, smiling brightly at him. The boy didn’t speak English, nor Russian, so it was an awkward affair, but Viktor shook his hand, patted his shoulder and said some encouraging words in Russian. He wasn’t even sure what he should say, but the other boy looked at him with big, glittering eyes and nodded as he spoke. He returned to Yakov and smiled at him. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Yakov said, and there was a short moment of silence. “Viktor, you do understand that you represent the great Union of Socialist Soviet Republics? That your talent is giving you power to shape an image of the union.” Yakov looked at him. “Don’t you want peace, Viktor?”

Viktor didn’t ask how Chinese relationships would help them achieve peace, and hearing Yakov speak about it was frankly just funny. “I want to fight for communism,” Viktor replied.

“Communism can spread through peaceful methods, if only the American’s let it,” Yakov nearly spat out the words. Viktor was glad that he had made Guang Hong a bit happier. The boy had looked pleased to see him. But he didn’t watch his performance and went to hear his scores.

They were high, but Yakov still looked grumpy.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to hold it?” Viktor was sitting on the floor below Yuuri, who was laying on the bed. “It’s heavy.”

“Mhm,” Yuuri said and reached out his hands. Viktor opened the case, where the gold medal laid on a velvet cushion. “I’m happy for you Viktor.”

Viktor beamed with pride as he handed over the gold medal. The first Olympic medal in figure skating for the U.S.S.R. and it was a gold one. Viktor could already see it behind a glass case with his picture above it, just like his world championships medals laid in the foyer to the ice rink he skated at.

Yuuri slid his finger over the cold metal, before picking it up to inspect it. “It’s heavy,” he said. Yuuri had ended up on a 9th place, but he was just as proud as Viktor. “I really hope I’ll do better at the worlds.”

Viktor leaned over and placed a kiss on Yuuri’s nose. “You’re so talented Yuuri, I really believe that you could do great things.” Viktor leaned his head over. “If I was your coach, you would have won today, I’m sure.”

Yuuri chuckled at the man’s words. “Stop it.”

“No, really, Yuuri!” Viktor said. “It really shows that you did ballet, because you are so graceful. Your step sequences and spins…” Viktor just smiled, shaking his head. “They’re as beautiful as you are, Yuuri.” Yuuri stroked the blonde hair, but he wasn’t sure that he believed the man’s words, and he sighed heavily. “Why are you sighing?”

“I am not that good, Viktor, not as good as you.”

Viktor sat silent for a few moments. “I have to tell you a secret,” Viktor said and stood up, moving towards his night stand, stroking Yuuri’s body as he walked passed him. Yuuri turned around and looked at the man who was only dressed in his underwear and the white shirt he had worn under his smocking at the banquet. Yuuri admired his back, his thighs and calves as the man was looking through his drawer and then threw himself back beside Yuuri.

Viktor showed him a medicine jar that rattled when he shook it. “What’s that?” Yuuri asked with a smile.

“It’s asthma medication,” Viktor said and Yuuri just smiled at him. He knew Viktor had asthma, he had told him last year, and in his letters. He had told him just a couple of days ago how his twitches had gotten better because he had stopped taking the medication for a while. Viktor didn’t look happy though, and Yuuri looked into the blue eyes that were filled with worry. “I don’t have asthma, Yuuri.” Yuuri looked at him, a bit confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t even think it’s asthma medication.” Viktor opened the jar and shook the bottle, a pill falling out into his hand. “When I didn’t take it, I gained weight, I was sad, I had no energy whatsoever. You know that I threw up after the free skate at the European Championship.” Viktor put the pill back into the bottle. “So how could I do it yesterday with ease? I barely felt bad, and the whole season I’ve been feeling horrible.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor. “Are you saying that… you’re doping yourself?”

Viktor laid still. “I’m not sure,” he said and grabbed Yuuri’s arm. “You’re not angry, are you?”

Yuuri looked at the man and shook his head. He wasn’t angry with Viktor, but it was shocking. They all swore that they would respect the sport, that they wouldn’t use any medications to alter their performance. That Viktor Nikiforov was taking drugs, it was shocking. But Yuuri wasn’t angry at him, and he also wasn’t sure that Viktor was going to be knowledgeable about the subject. Viktor did what people told him, he was a bit like a puppy, a very happy puppy that could be stubborn but would wiggle his tail if someone was kind to him. Viktor would never cheat, and Yuuri thought about Saskuki’s words, how the Soviet Union was just using Viktor to normalise and spread their ideology. “How long have you been taking them?”

The blonde wasn’t sure yet, and he made sure to tell Yuuri that as the Japanese man was thinking. Not because he was trying to justify it to him, but because he

“Since… 1956.” Viktor said, looking down at his hands. “Yakov and my doctor prescribed them to me after I only got bronze at the European Championships that year. It was my first international competition.”

Yuuri moved closer to Viktor, hugging him close. “But they make you twitch, don’t they? You said so.”

“It’s nothing I can’t control. I take sleeping aids too,” Viktor said, burying his head in Yuuri’s hair. “I might be a fraud, Yuuri.” The Japanese man stroked Viktor. “I don’t even know what to do, you saw how bad I was when I didn’t use it.”

“You got second place…”

Viktor interrupted him. “What if I peaked three years ago? What if I’m only good because of this?”

Yuuri couldn’t answer that question, and just stroked Viktor’s hair. “It’s not your fault, it’s your coach and doctor. You never asked for it, and like you said, you’re not completely sure it’s even true.”

Viktor shook his head. He had never asked for it, he had not wanted to take drugs. It had slowly dawned on Viktor and being able to finally talk to someone about it felt wonderful. “I’m so lucky to have you.” Viktor sighed. “I missed you so much this year.”

 “The best part is that I’ll meet you again in just one month.” Yuuri didn’t want to think about the coming year, that time, they would have to wait for twelve months until they saw each other again, and then just for a short while.

Viktor smiled. “We’ll have another country to explore. I wonder what food they have in Canada?”


	6. Chapter 6

When one had spent a year waiting to meet the person who made one’s heart beat, one could think that spending a few weeks apart would go by quickly, but it was the absolute opposite. The few short weeks between the Olympics in California, and the worlds in Vancouver felt longer than Viktor had thought it would. They felt like an eternity.

They went back to Leningrad, Viktor were greeted by people cheering for him outside the airport. And at school, his students ignored any instruction that either him or Georgi tried to hand out, begging the blonde to tell him about his victory, to show them the medal. Viktor enjoyed it, a lot, but Yakov did not as it meant that Viktor wasn’t concentrating on what laid ahead. “I’m not letting you go to the Pravda interview if you don’t land the combo perfectly!” Yakov yelled at him several times a week, always with different threats.

Because it wasn’t just the people that cared for his successes. No, newspapers wrote about him, he was allowed to go on radio interviews, he was even scheduled to appear on TV later in the spring. Officials wanted to invite him to dinners, important people wanted to speak to him. He was even invited to Moscow to perform, and while Yakov grunted at the idea, he had to agree when it was rumoured even the general secretary and party member Khrushchev would be attending.

“You didn’t even break a world record, why are they getting boners for you?” Yuri Plisetsky, a junior skater that had been practicing with Viktor since they were both kids (or well, Viktor had been a teenager), had told him. The blonde, young boy had just gotten back from a Young Pioneers meeting, removing the red scarf he had tied around his neck.

Otabek Altin, a talented Kazakh skater, laid in the same sofa as Viktor as they were watched over by Yakov, who made sure that they relaxed and didn’t start wrestling or show off. Otabek turned his head to look at the fourteen-year-old skater. “He won the Olympics, have you ever done that?”

Yuri dumped the scarf over the Kazakh’s face. “Do not move,” Yakov said as a warning when Otabek tensed his muscles, ready to wrestle with the young boy. “You’re supposed to relax, not get yourselves worked up.” Viktor nodded. Every day they spent forty minutes laying on their backs, just to relax. Viktor was still sweaty from the jog, and from stretching out. “Yuri, stretch and lay down too.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and stepped over Georgi who laid in an armchair, his feet on a footrest. “It was so dumb today, do I really need to go to the meetings, Yakov?” Yuuri asked as he continued to undressed, dropping out of his red shorts. “We spent the evening learning how to pitch a tent. I’m never going to live in a tent, Yakov.”

Viktor chuckled, but kept his eyes closed. Yuri always had something to complain about. A minute ago it had been that Viktor talked about perhaps meeting leader of their country, and now he was complaining about the Young Pioneers. _Or scouts as Yuuri would have called it_. “You know that you have to, and you should think it is fun.”

“I wish I was still in the Young Pioneers, Komsomol was dull as…” Georgi glanced over at Yakov and decided to not curse. Viktor could hear how Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s boring as fuck, and I don’t want to go any longer. I don’t want to be in the Komsomol either, it’s probably just as boring.”

Otabek chuckled. “It’s even duller, it’s like school, but without homework.”

Yakov shook his head. “Altin, Plisetsky, the Komsomol are a great organization. Do you want all the power and knowledge of politics to only belong to those that have the time and money to devote time for it?”

“It’s not like Yuri is going to become a general secretary,” Georgi said, and was hit over the head by Yuri who was on his way into his room.

“They don’t let talented people join.” Viktor looked up at Yuri and smiled at him. The teenager rolled his eyes and sighed, disappearing into his bedroom.

Otabek chuckled. “Yuri, if you become the general secretary you don’t have to be a Komsomol!” Viktor smirked at the two kids. The blonde had heard some suspicious noises on those nights when he had not been able to sleep because he forgot to take his pills. He suspected that the two skaters, who shared a room together, most likely had something going on between them. Viktor thought it was sweet, and while he wasn’t sure, he wouldn’t interrupt it.

Yuri came out wearing his pyjamas. “If I become the general secretary, the Soviet Union have some serious issues.” The boy began to stretch, leaning towards the wall as he did. “How is the summer camp coming along?”

Yakov turned to his youngest skater, and the one he hoped would replace Viktor one day. Yuri Plisetsky had troublesome views though, and Yakov worried about him. He couldn’t understand why Viktor was so positive, even though he had a strange obsession with foreigners, while Yuri, he seemed to reject… basic ideology. But to Yakov, that didn’t matter. He really only cared about skating, but knew that to keep his skaters on the ice, they needed to do two things; win and do what the party asked them to. “It’s going fine,” Yakov said. “Stop calling it a summer camp though.”

“Is Emil Nekola still coming?” Yuri asked and finally laid down on his usual spot, on the soft carpet below the sofa that Otabek rested on. The black-haired man handed Yuri a pillow.

“Yes, he is.” Yakov nodded, putting down his newspaper. “And so is Guang-Hong from China. Otherwise it’s everyone else who normally come.”

Viktor opened his eyes. He had not thought about it before, but every year Yakov threw what the skaters liked to call a summer camp. Yakov protested, saying that it made it sound childish. For two weeks each summer, skaters from all over Soviet Union, and other countries which were deemed as safe, would get together, and they would spend their time skating, talking and practicing. Viktor had always loved it, meeting people from as far away as Vladivostok, and even other countries. This year, Guang-Hong from China, the skater he had greeted during the Olympics, would be there, and Emil Nekola, probably together with his younger brother, who came from Czechoslovakia. Viktor heard Yuri and Yakov speak with each other, but he didn’t listen. “Could I invite someone?” Viktor asked and nearly sat up before Yakov smacked his forehead.

“Who?” Yakov asked.

Viktor grew silent for a short moment. “What about Giacometti and Katsuki?” Was it a sane idea? Not really, that was why Viktor had come up with it.

Yakov laughed at the skater. “Do you really think that they would be allowed to go? Their governments wouldn’t let them.”

“But can’t we invite them? Who knows what their governments want? I mean… Yuuri says…” Viktor wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say. But there had been western people there before. Some Swedes, some Frenchmen. Why wouldn’t Yuuri be able to visit him? He would live at a hotel, there would be so many strict rules to adhere too, but did that matter? “Please Yakov, pretty please?”

“You’re so pathetic!” Yuri grunted. “Are you in love with them or something, fucking faggot?”

Viktor gently kicked Yuri’s head with his foot. “We’re good friends, okay? I’m not a faggot.”

“Be still! How hard is it to be still?” Yakov said, once more hitting Viktor over his head.

Viktor crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t like being reminded that others thought that what he did was bad. He wasn’t a faggot either, faggots were weird people, boys that liked to dress up like girls, who spoke with feminine voices and were a burden on society as they didn’t work and leeched onto other’s hard labour. Viktor just liked having sex with men, but he wasn’t a faggot. “I just want to show him how great it is here.”

Yakov shook his head. “Fine, I’ll see if I can invite them, can you please just stay still for now?”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had gotten the news from Sasuki at the ice rink.

It had been a Tuesday, and he spent the day in the library studying before heading towards the ice rink. It had been cold, and Sasuki had been waiting for him outside, his breath hanging as white fog in the air. Yuuri realised something was wrong almost the moment that he saw him. “I do not think it’s a good idea.” Sasuki had given him a big, brown envelope, which was addressed to Yuuri’s club, but inside of it laid an invitation from the Leningrad Skating Union.

Yuuri almost immediately grasped the situation. He understood that it wasn’t by pure routine that he was being invited, that everyone with a certain score got invited, but that Viktor must have pulled a few strings to get him an invitation. If he went, it would mean that he got to spend two weeks with Viktor during the summer, that he wouldn’t have to wait for another year to see him, to touch him. That they for once would get to spend time together without the pressure of competing over their shoulders. They would get to spend time together, even if it would probably be more regulated than their time together had been so far.

It also meant that Yuuri would spend time in the Soviet Union. He wouldn’t be able to hide it to the outside world, and while he knew that they held a few competitions that foreigners could join, in hockey and speed skating, he knew that no Japanese had ever been at such an event. And Japan was doing better at hockey than Yuuri was doing at figure skating.

“I want to go.” Yuuri made his decision within seconds. They weren’t going to keep him there, and Yuuri wasn’t that interesting was he? Some papers would write about it, like they had written about them last year, but it would hardly cause any bombs to drop.

Sasuki sighed. “Well, you’re allowed to for some inexplicable reason.” The coach showed him another letter, and this one was of much more importance to Yuuri as it was a letter signed by the minister of foreign affairs. Yuuri looked at it, and realised that he was treading on thin, thin ice. “I don’t like it though, really Yuuri, you’re so close to just being a sock puppet.”

Yuuri nodded slowly. He wished that he could make Sasuki understand that he had to go because he loved Viktor. Not because he liked communism, or because he wanted to be adventurous, but because it meant that he could spend fourteen more days with Viktor that year.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t wait until the summer,” Viktor said as they were walking back from a restaurant in Vancouver. Viktor was barely able to keep himself from holding Yuuri’s hand and all he had talked about during the dinner was how much fun they would have in July. Christophe was with them, and he had jokingly said that he was just invited to be their apron. Which was true.

They had eaten dinner together, without any other athletes. A Canadian skater had wanted to take Viktor out for dinner, but Viktor had turned him down in favour of his close friend and Yuuri. “I bet it’s cold and miserable,” Christophe said. “And you two will ignore me.”

Viktor laughed. “You’re going to have fun, Christophe, maybe they’ll let us go out in the evenings. I’ll show you Pushkin, oh, and the parks are so beautiful.” Viktor was already imagining all of them having a good time, how he would show them the beautiful buildings of Leningrad, how him and Yuuri would practice together, how he would finally show Christophe what real alcohol was. He would make Georgi, Yuri and Otabek follow along on the adventures he wished to have with Christophe and Yuuri. Or, well, Yuri would follow if he wanted to, but Viktor couldn’t make him.

Yuuri smiled. “I’m just happy that I do not need to be away from you for that long.”

“So, is this your first anniversary then?” Christophe joked with them. The Swiss man loved seeing Viktor happy, and the Soviet Russian seemed to really liked the small Japanese man, perhaps enough to finally leave the country. Christophe thought that if he wanted to, Viktor could jump into a taxi right now and be free. But Viktor had always laughed at his suggestions to do so before, as the skater didn’t see anything wrong with the country that he lived in. Maybe not being able to be with Yuuri, would make him change his mind.

“I guess it is,” Viktor said and smiled against Yuuri, and the kiss that they had to wait to share with each other was hanging in the air, as it had happened even if it had not. “And we’ll see each other so soon!”

Viktor went on to win the worlds again, Christophe placing second and Yuuri doing even better than last year, making sure that Japan still got two skaters in the next worlds.

This time saying goodbye didn’t feel as bad since they would see each other in just a couple of months again.

 

* * *

 

In Leningrad Yuuri had been greeted by officials and Yakov Feltsman, Viktor’s coach. None of the international skaters had had to go through customs themselves, but their baggage was thoroughly checked for anything that was suspicious. Yuuri was informed that they were going to keep his camera, but that he was going to get it back when he went back home. “It’s just for safety matters,” the translator, a girl called Anna, told him with a smile. “But we’ll have some photographs taken to commemorate the event.”

Yuuri was so happy to learn that he was going to share a room with Christophe and he honestly didn’t care about having his camera taken away, even if he would have liked to immortalized the trip himself.

“If you’re going to fuck in here, I want to know though.” Christophe smirked at Yuuri who blushed furiously at both hearing the curseword, but also the thought that Christophe _knew._ “God, he wasn’t kidding that it would be warm though.”

“I think it’s cold.” Yuuri said. They were both unpacking their things into the drawers and closets. From what Yuuri had seen, Leningrad was a beautiful city. There were trees everywhere, parks and the houses were beautiful and looked like something out of a fairytale. Christophe had said that they were most likely only going to get to see the best parts of the city, and Yuuri quickly realised that they were only allowed to see a small, small part of Leningrad. But, he wasn’t there for Leningrad, he was there for Viktor. The hotel was nice, the beds soft, and Yuuri and Christophe would never have an issue with not having hot water. Or food.

Christophe laughed. “I really want to go to Japan, but the food seems odd.”

“Not enough cheese for you?” Yuuri smiled towards Christophe, who laughed at his joke.

That first day they all ate dinner together for the first time. There was about 30 skaters there, and 8 of those came from outside of the Soviet Union, but only Yuuri and Christophe came from countries that didn’t have a communist ideology. Viktor waved at them when he saw them. “Come let’s sit together!” Viktor said and Christophe saw how both of the skaters kept their hands in their pockets, as if that was the only way to keep themselves away from each other.

Christophe nodded. “Sure, sure!” Viktor looked like he always did, perhaps with a slight tan on his skin. Yuuri thought it was so strange to see him, and both of them had spent their days from March counting down to this moment. Yuuri didn’t want to think about how quickly those two weeks were going to pass by.

The Russian skater led them towards the table he had been sitting at, together with his friends, and the two new arrivals consisting of Guang-Hong Ji from China and Emil Nekola from Czechoslovakia. “Here, let me introduce everybody!” Viktor was smiling from cheek to cheek. “These are my friends, Christophe Giacometti and Yuuri Katsuki,” he told them both to sit down on the chairs next to him. “And that is Otabek Altin,” A black haired man raised his hand, keeping his expression blank. “Georgi Popovich and Emil Nekola,” the two men heard their names being said and nodded politely too the two foreigners. Everyone was naturally a bit shy. “This is Yuri Plisetsky,” Viktor laughed. “He’s a junior skater.”

“Just for one more year,” Yuri said. His accent was heavy, but his English was just as good as Viktor’s was. They had started to receive training at the same time, as Yakov believed that the young boy would be Viktor’s successor, and not the Kazakh.

There was some shy greetings being made, hands being shaken, and over all everything went well. “I don’t know if everyone will be able to keep up with the conversation though,” Viktor said. Georgi and Otabek didn’t speak English that well, and Guang-Hong had not been able to say much the last time that Viktor and him met. “But I’m sure it will go just fine, right?”

“Yes!” Yuuri said excitedly, and looked at Viktor with gleaming eyes. Viktor smiled at him before finally sitting down.

“So, is everyone ready to eat?”

It was the first time that Yuuri got to eat Russian food, and it was a four-course meal, which Viktor claimed was common. It all tasted very well, and Yuuri enjoyed just sitting next to Viktor to eat. He missed even the most mundane things when it came to Viktor. Knowing that he would get to do that for two full weeks, without any interruptions, made all his worries and anxiety about the trip, about the risks he was taking, fade away for a moment.

It made it all worth it didn’t it? The small moments was what kept them together. Yuuri could forget that he wasn’t wanted, that his relationship with Viktor would never be anything else than this, when he sat next to him eating Kiev cake, listening to him as he spoke about all the things that they would do.

It didn’t even bother Yuuri that they had to say good bye to each other, without getting to meet in the middle of the night. But they still spent some time in the bathroom together, just holding hands and looking at each other, their lips kissing anything they could. “I’m so happy you are here,” Viktor whispered to him. “Tomorrow, we’ll get to spend a whole day together.”

 

* * *

 

Viktor’s day began as it always did. At 6 sharp, Yakov woke them up and sent them off for a run. Viktor was always half asleep, and his legs moved on their own, his mind orienting itself through the track without thinking much. Then he had breakfast, showered, got dressed. This was when he would be running to catch the bus to his work, but this time he waited for them all to leave to the rink.

The days at the camp would look rather normal to the Soviet skaters. But Christophe and Yuuri would find them quite gruelling. They were divided into 3 groups, and the day was divided into three plans, either you skated, ran or did weights, ballet or gymnastics.

Viktor had nagged on Yakov to make sure that Christophe and Yuuri would be in the same group as him. Yakov had looked at Viktor when he brought it up back in May, and he had slowly grown suspicious. He remembered the time that he had found Viktor together with that boy in the locker room. It disgusted him to think about, and for a moment he wondered if the Japanese man twisted Viktor’s mind again. He could see it, the Japanese had always sounded perverted. Yuuri Katsuki looked sweet enough to be hiding something behind the proper looks and combed hair.

For a teenage boy one could expect things like that, Yakov understood it, and he didn’t judge Viktor for it today. All teenage boys had lusts, and as long as one beat out the bad ones, that was alright. He wanted Viktor to keep away from doing that now, and if it also meant that Viktor wouldn’t date women, Yakov didn’t complain. Love made everything more complicated, and gave less time to practice. But Viktor would be 25 in a few months, he would have to start paying the child-tax if he didn’t settle down and got himself a wife.

And of course, people would perhaps start to gossip. To wonder.

Still, Yakov thought that it was better to give his star what he wanted, to make sure that he was allowed the small comforts that he wished for. So he made sure to place the Japanese and Swiss in Viktor’s group.

Yakov’s concerns weren’t subdued as Viktor nearly jumped out of the bus when he saw the Japanese man, and how he touched his shoulders, leaning over him and laughed about everything he said. But perhaps, that was just how Viktor was.

“We’ll do ballet first,” Viktor said like an excited child. Yuuri was just as excited, looking at Viktor with big eyes and nodding. Christophe felt like the third wheel, but thought that he might as well play along, and he had been eyeing a very, very handsome man who was also in their group. He wasn’t quite sure he was reading him right, but he hoped so. “I’ve never seen any of you do ballet before have I?” Viktor asked and chuckled.

“No, I don’t think so.” Viktor and Yuuri had barely seen the other one eating breakfast, but yet they felt like they knew everything about each other. “You said you weren’t very good at ballet?”

“No, I wasn’t! My mum wanted me to do ballet, she used to do it, and that’s how Yakov found me, I was about six, and he said my feet might as well be put into concrete blocks.” Viktor began to lead them towards the dance studio, which wasn’t far away from the ice rink. “And well, here I am, with ankles that barely move.”

Yuuri had already heard the story of how Viktor came into figure skating, and so had Christophe, but neither of them had thought that it was particularly strange. Yuuri had gotten into it as a hobby and because a friend of his did it, Christophe had stepped on the ice at age eight and just excelled at it. Viktor’s life was still a big mystery to Yuuri, who had never asked much about him, even if he knew that his mother was still alive and that the man wasn’t from Leningrad. He knew that he had been bad at school, that he had enjoyed playing with his friends, and once when he was 9, he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Perhaps this time he would be able to talk more, when their physical needs could be more easily met.

And now, he got to see him dance ballet. Yuuri wasn’t surprised to learn that Viktor had been humble, and that his skills as a ballet dancer was just as great as anyone elses. Perhaps it was a bit sloppy at some points, but he did it with easy elegance, the kind of elegance that Viktor had on the ice. Yuuri was a good dancer, but Christophe had always preferred other types of dancing, like jazz. He was still good of course and continued to chat with the anonymous Russian through-out the lesson

It was all so much fun, but at the end of the day, Yuuri and Christophe were exhausted. At all times they had been swarmed by officials, and while they had eaten lunch at a local restaurant, they had noticed that it was only the skaters in the establishment, and everything seemed strangely new. The scent of wet paint mixed together with the food, and everyone they saw were always smiling, and everyone was well dressed.

Nothing felt truly authentic, and the feeling became clearer the further the day went by. They went back to the hotel and would eat dinner together once more, another four-course-meal, and even Viktor said that the food sounded extravagant, followed by a laugh. Christophe would later tell Yuuri how exciting it was, but Yuuri would just worry. It felt off. He felt the same fear as a child does when it stares into a mirror and imagine that the next movement it does, the mirror isn’t going to repeat it and reveal itself as the shape-shifiting monster it is.

He could see it was real, but it didn’t feel real.

“You’d like kasha, why don’t we get kasha? It’s cheap and really filling,” Viktor was babbling as they walked up the stairs to the hotel as Yuuri was deep into his thoughts. He began to notice how polished everything was, and the lobby didn’t smell like old smoke either.

Yuuri was so wrapped up in his thoughts, worrying and for the first time thinking about what he was doing. He was flirting with one of the most powerful governments in the world, and they had more power over him than he had over them. Viktor pulled at him to make him move from the doors, but the blonde Yuri Plisetsky had already lost his temper, and as he had been walking behind Yuuri, he gave him a hard push. “Move over, узкоглазый!” Yuri yelled and pushed Yuuri who fell against Viktor as the teenager passed them.

“Hey!” Viktor raised his voice, his eyes dark. Yuri was a stupid kid, but he didn’t think that he would be outright mean to someone. Perhaps that was why he was so nice to him as he spoke, while if Georgie had called Yuuri _slit-eye_ he would have begun to argue. “That’s not nice.”

“But he is slit eyed,” Yuri stated coldly in Russian, crossing his arms over his chest. Otabek had continued to walk, not getting involved with Yuri’s pettiness. He knew that Yuri didn’t like the Japanese skater as it meant that Viktor abandoned him, when usually the camp meant that they did a lot of fun things together, instead of just the mundane every day practice. Yuri wanted to be just like Viktor, and to have his idol reject him had to hurt. But Otabek still thought that the boy didn’t need to scream at Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor looked at Yuri, snorting at his words. “And you’re as pretty as a girl? Do you want me to start calling you Yulia?” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s shoulder, he had no idea what the two skaters spoke about, but thinking that it was dumb that they argued with each other. He gently said Viktor’s name.

Yuri stood still for a moment, looking at Viktor, and then shrugged. “Faggots.” Yuri spun around and went past them, running to catch up with Otabek.

Viktor looked after him, and he thought about the words he had spoken 18 months ago in an American restaurant. The Soviet Union didn’t have an issue with racism, it was just Yuri being a teenager. Viktor had to buy it, he had to swallow it.

“What did he say?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor looked down at Yuuri and then smiled. “He’s a teenager, what didn’t he say?” Viktor laughed but he could feel Christophe’s eyes investigating him, and Yuuri didn’t believe the man either. But it wasn’t worth arguing about and the translators and other officials began to stir again.

Yuuri had noticed how people stared at him, and while he had had that issue before, in Colorado Springs and Vancouver especially, it was uncomfortable. People would turn around in the street to look at him, they would whisper things to each other. They didn’t seem to have any malice towards him, but it was still strange, so when Yuuri managed to pull out the translation of Plisetsky’s words from Viktor, it didn’t surprise him. He too remembered the words that Viktor had spoken months ago, and Christophe’s words echoed in his mind together with those of his coach. _Viktor was a tool of the communist regime._

Yuuri was in too deep.

But Viktor smiled at him, holding his arm around his shoulder when a photographer came towards them, asking if he could take a picture.

Yuuri smiled too, but he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.


	7. Chapter 7

“If this is what they do every day, I am no longer surprised that they are good.” Christophe was sitting by the dressing table, his legs crossed as he inspected his face in the mirror. Yuuri sat in his bed, looking at Christophe as he plucked his eyebrows. Christophe sat as if he was wearing a suit, as if he wasn’t in the intimate setting of a bedroom and he wasn’t just wearing a dressing gown. He was slightly intimidating to Yuuri, who would always try to hide himself and who he was. Christophe was very different from him. Not only would he never dare to sit in just a dressing gown, showing off most of his chest, but he wouldn’t be able to be as confident and out-spoken as Christophe was in everyday life.

Yuuri nodded. “It was pretty hard.”

“Pretty hard? I don’t work out like that,” Christophe said. “I wonder how much he practice through the rest of the year, because he didn’t seem to bothered about it.”

“He works out at his job.” Yuuri looked at Christophe, who had stopped looking at the mirror and instead leaned his back against the chair, looking at Yuuri through the mirror. “His job is just working out every day.”

Christophe smirked. “Knew it,” he said. “It was too handy to not be a coincidence. Although Viktor does seem good with kids.” Christophe didn’t care that much about Viktor. The Soviet Hockey team and their military works were shady, but Viktor seemed to actually go to work every day, and even if that meant that he was exercising all day, it was a job. Christophe was a physiotherapist and spent his day at a hospital, taking care of people, but spending most of his time sitting on a stool, or standing by patient as he instructed patients with messed up limbs. If Viktor got to run around all day, that was obviously a great advantage on the amateur level they were all supposed to be on.

Yuuri nodded. “Everything feels so polished, Christophe.” Yuuri moved in the bed, hugging his legs to his chest. “It feels fake.”

The swiss man sighed. “I have known Viktor for longer than you, and I can tell you that it all is forged,” Christophe said. “You didn’t see him when I first took him to a restaurant, he was amazed that he could chose anything he wanted from the menu.” Christophe glanced over at the man in the bed, who looked worried. Christophe had showed Viktor so much, and in the beginning, it had amused him (it still did) and as Viktor had started to spend more time with Yuuri, Christophe had hoped that Viktor would end up seeing the truth, the propaganda. “And now he pretends as if they always get to choose what to eat for lunch here. All fake, just for our eyes.”

Yuuri nodded. “I know it is, I have talked to him about it, but he just…” Yuuri didn’t know what to say. Christophe didn’t know much about Japan, but Yuuri seemed nice enough and somewhere he had read that the country was getting military aide from the United States. So surely, they were better off than Korea. And Yuuri was a very nice person, a bit anxious and could do with a course in self-confidence, but Christophe liked him.

“He’s very optimistic, isn’t he?” Christophe said and Yuuri nodded. “He’s two years older than me but sometimes I wonder if that helps.”

“He can be serious too, that’s what makes it so obvious I believe.” Yuuri sighed a little bit. “The longer I am here, the more I understand why he speaks nicely of it.” The Japanese man fell silent. “I always hoped, foolishly I know, that we would be able to be together.”  

Christophe had never dreamt of having a life with another man, but he hadn’t dreamt of domestic life at all. Yuuri seemed like the kind of man that wanted to settle down at one point, and Viktor felt like he would like it too. But they didn’t have that possibility, they would never have that possibility. “It will be fine, Yuuri, you’ll find a way to be together.” Christophe said and got up. “Now, don’t think too much, it’s not going to get better by you thinking about it.”

Yuuri nodded and soon he was reading his book again as Christophe was showering. He still couldn’t let it go, and laid awake for most of the night.

 

* * *

 

It was a beautiful evening. Yuuri had not been sure how Viktor had managed to make the officials agree to bring them out to the park they were in, but he figured he had something to do with how Viktor had smiled against the lady with the tight pony tail and a military uniform.

It was warm and the summer sun was still hanging in the sky, even if it was almost eight in the evening. Around them were families, groups of friends and lovers who laid on blankets, talking, playing games and just enjoying themselves. It looked like any other park, on any other summer night.

It had been a quiet evening, Christophe had suggested they should go down to the bar when Viktor had knocked on their door with two bottles of wine and a blanket under his arm. “Let’s go to the park!”

Yuuri had walked close to Viktor and enjoyed the tour he was getting as there was no one with them. No translators, officials or guides, just the three of them. They didn’t need to walk on any side of the road, didn’t need to be chartered around in buses, but Viktor just led them to a green, beautifully lush park, and spread the blanket on an empty spot. They had started to drink and chat (Yuuri had brought cups as Viktor had forgotten about that completely) and as they sat on the top of a hill, they studied the people below them.

After an hour, Viktor had decided to invite some others, and ran back to the hotel to call home. Very soon, Otabek and Yuuri joined them. Otabek brining some _kvass_ , a type of soft drink, and Yuuri without a sour face for once (which Viktor was sure to point out).

“Try it,” Otabek said and poured some kvass into Yuuri’s glass.

It wasn’t hard to communicate with each other even if they didn’t know each other’s languages. Viktor and Yuri acted as translators for Otabek, who caught up on some words and Yuuri suspected that Otabek understood more than he could speak. They didn’t talk about anything in particular, but just skating, about their home countries and for some reason Christophe started to talk about his vacation in Italy, which grew more and more lewd the longer that he was allowed to keep on. The small blonde skater, as well as Yuuri, was blushing at what Christophe told them, even though it wasn’t bad, they both understood the implications of it. Viktor just laughed.

Yuri and Yuuri held a cartwheeling competition, which Viktor declared was tied. “You’re too diplomatic!” Yuri yelled at him and lifted his mug filled with wine. “You try me then, come on, I challenge you!” Yuuri laughed at the determination in the smaller skater’s word.

“Do it Viktor!” Yuuri cheered him on, and Otabek said something in Russian, that Yuuri assumed was similar to what he had said.

“Fine!” Viktor said and stood up, brushing his hands against his pants. Yuri showed off, doing pretty cartwheels, Viktor fell and rolled halfway down the hill, swearing as he managed to stop. “I’ll get grass stains all over myself!” he yelled as he ran back up the hill. Christophe was laughing so much he almost began crying. Otabek joined in and Yuuri chuckled as he grabbed Viktor’s hand, pulling him down to sit next to him.

If someone had been watching it would have seemed very _friendly_. But no one was watchin, and no one was expecting to see anything else than friends.

Georgi joined them together with his girlfriend as the sun had long left them in the dark, and he had brought wooden skittles to play a game of _gorodki_. “You throw the big sticks at the small sticks and try to knock them down,” Yuri explained to Yuuri as if he was an idiot for not understanding how one played the game.

Yuuri was horrible at it, but it was a good excuse for Viktor to stand close behind him and teach him how he should throw.

This was exactly how Yuuri wanted to live, how he wanted him and Viktor to be together. He didn’t feel anxious as he played around with Viktor, as Viktor chased him down the hill when accidentially had hit Viktor with one of the bats. He laughed as Otabek wrestles Yuri to the ground, and later into the night he was determined to learn how to make flower wreathes from Georgi’s girlfriend, placing it on Viktor’s head when he was done.

He didn’t feel worried and he didn’t think about the future. All that was, was him and Viktor.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in the middle of their second week together, Viktor and Yuuri was left on their own in the dining room after the dinner. Viktor had waved at Yakov, saying that he could get back on his own. They had been reading a magazine, or Viktor had been translating it for Yuuri, and that was why they had been left on their own.

They didn’t move until the cleaners was beginning to move around them. “Why don’t we go up to your room?” Viktor asked and Yuuri could feel himself blush. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and nodded.

They kept more of a distance to each other now than they had the whole week. Yuuri had stood close to Viktor, almost leaning over him as he listened to instructions, and Viktor had not been shy, touching Yuuri, playing with him, but now when they were both aware that they were doing something that other people wouldn’t approve of. Long gone was the memories of that evening in the park. So therefore they barely looked at each other.

Christophe looked at them when they both stumbled into the bedroom. He sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky that I found someone,” he said as he moved from the bed.

“Who?” Viktor asked curiously. He was much more relaxed about It while Yuuri felt his cheeks burning from the fact that Christophe _knew_ what they were going to do. Had he ever told a third party about sex? About having sex with men? Not really. He knew that Christophe also slept with men, that he was like them, but it was still odd to think about it.

“Ivan?” Christophe said. “Ivan Ilyich?”

“Vanya?” Viktor said surprised. “I didn’t know that.” Yuuri moved into the room and began to flip through a book as he was trying to hide how embarrassed he felt. Christophe and Viktor talked for a bit longer, but as Viktor glanced over at Yuuri, seeing how embarrassed he was, he ended the chat. “Have fun then!” Viktor smiled at Christophe before pushing him out the door. “Thank you,” he called after him before closing it.

Yuuri hugged Viktor and for the first time in months they were alone and safe from the outside world in a hotel room. “I’ve been thinking about you,” Yuuri said as Viktor was undressing them.

“That handjob last week didn’t make me miss you less,” Viktor said and kissed Yuuri who chuckled.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t you like it here, Yuuri?” Viktor asked as he played with Yuuri’s black hair as they both laid in bed. Viktor had just gotten his breath back and Yuuri was contemplating whether he should have a shower or wait for a little bit. Maybe they wanted to do it again?

Yuuri placed a soft kiss on Viktor’s shoulder, but hesitated to say anything. He didn’t like it, and the fact that Viktor couldn’t tell that he didn’t, bothered him. “I like being with you, Viktor, but…” Yuuri fell silent. “I am not sure I enjoy being here.”

“Why not?” Viktor asked and there was such a genuine surprise. The Russian still smiled as sweetly as he always did and Yuuri stroked his naked chest, thinking about what he should say.

He thought back on the conversation he had had with Christophe. “It’s very polished. It feels like I’m in a play.” Viktor looked at him with a quizzical face. “Like I’m on a stage and every costume, every movement around me have been carefully planned, don’t you agree?” Viktor began to laugh and Yuuri playfully hit him. “I’m serious! Is it always this nice? You said you don’t always…”

“Well, Yuuri, if you are having guests over, are you going to feed them your everyday food?” Viktor asked and while Yuuri thought that was reasonable, he thought that Japan wouldn’t redecorate hotels and clean away anything that wasn’t proper. Maybe ban some homeless people, but that would be it. Viktor hugged Yuuri and sighed. “It’s okay, I know it’s a bit strange, even Emil says so, and he’s just Czech?”

They cuddled with each other for some time, and Viktor enjoyed it. When had he ever just laid in a bed with another man, feeling soft skin against his own, feeling the warmth of another person? Of course, he had felt it when he was having sex with someone, but sex in a bed wasn’t that common, and even so, they usually wouldn’t cuddle with each other afterwards. It hadn’t been many times, and most of them had had been with Yuuri.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, breaking the silence. “Could you tell me more about your parents?” Yuuri had told Viktor everything there was to know about his family, about the onsen that had been in their family for centuries (and of course what an onsen was), about his older sister, how his mother and father had met, how he felt about being an only son and the expectations he had to live with. Had he not cried in Viktor’s arms, saying that he felt ashamed that he didn’t _want_ to marry and give his parents grandchildren? How he didn’t want to be the last man in the Katsuki family?

But Viktor had not told him much. Yuuri talked most of the two in general, as Viktor was happy to talk about superficial things like food and sex, but when it came to his personal life, he was very quiet. Even to the point that Yuuri had not known that he lived together with Yakov and the other skaters.

“What do you want to know?” Viktor asked.

“Everything,” Yuuri giggled.

Viktor sat up a little bit in the bed, and Yuuri followed, still leaning against his chest. “Well, my mother always said I was born one month too early, but I weighed 4 kilos so I doubt it,” Viktor laughed a bit and moved closer.

“A bastard,” Yuuri giggled and kissed the man.

Viktor hummed. “My mom is lovely, she is kind and sweet, and looks so young. She had just turned 18 when she got me, she’s a little Octobrist, born in the heat of the great revolution.” Viktor smiled at the memories of his mother and he told Yuuri how he she looked, how she dressed and that she smelled like a special kind of soap and caramel.

“What about your dad?” Yuuri asked.

“My father died in the war.” Yuuri felt Viktor’s hand mindlessly stroke his back. Viktor didn’t sound sad as he spoke, but only as if he was trying to remember things. “I was young, about seven, so I don’t remember a lot about him.”

“I’m so sorry, Viktor.” It wasn’t news to Yuuri, as Viktor had told him about it before. Yuuri’s father had been too old to be drafted, and even if he had been, he had always been a bit chubby. But Yuuri knew that others weren’t so lucky, and Viktor’s father was one of those people.

Viktor shrugged. “I wish that I got to spend more time with my mother, I don’t meet her often.” Yuuri nodded. As he was studying and living far away from Hasetsu, he didn’t have time to meet his family when there weren’t longer holidays, during the summer vacations. He wasn’t sure how things would be when he would graduate, what would happen _if_ he moved to another country with Viktor. “I saw her a few years ago, it was the year before my first Worlds.”

“That was in 1956?” Yuuri said with a shocked voice. Had Viktor not seen his mother for six years?

“Yeah, it was in spring ’55, I was still a teenager,” Viktor chuckled. “She said I had grown so much, and I was so surprised how small she was. I remembered her as towering me, and now I was taller than her by… a lot.” Viktor laughed.

Yuuri looked up at him. “What do you mean? It sounds like you didn’t see her at all.”

“I haven’t seen her a lot,” Viktor said. “When I was 6, Yakov saw me at that ballet performance, he liked what he saw, and when I was 7 he took me to Leningrad. It was before my father died, but he had been away for years already, and I remember my mum tucked my shirt into my pants at the train station, telling me to behave or she’d come to Leningrad herself and beat me up,” Viktor laughed at the memory and lazily kissed Yuuri. “I haven’t really lived with my mom since.” Viktor smiled, but Yuuri didn’t think it looked very honest. “I met her a few times, but mostly it was me and Yakov. When Georgi came to live with us I was thrilled to not be alone with Lilia and Yakov,” Viktor chuckled.

Yuuri listened to the story, and while he had heard versions of it before, this was the first time he heard it in full. Viktor continued to talk about picking up Georgi, bomb shelters and the war. How Lilia and Yakov had acted like his parents from the age of 7, how they had been the one who took him to school, how Georgi had been like a brother. Viktor told him about the competitions, about the doctors’ appointments, at how Yakov had beaten him when he got home drunk for the first time. But Yuuri didn’t fully listen to his story, but instead began to think. Viktor must have been 7 in 1942 and the thought that the Soviet Union was training a seven-year-old in gymnastic during the war felt absurd. “Viktor, did you want to skate?”

The blonde was silent, taken aback by Yuuri’s sudden question, but he quickly responded with words that he had repeated to himself many times: “I love skating.”

“Yeah, but was it your choice?” Yuuri knew that Viktor loved skating, one could see it when he skated. Viktor was always excited about his programs, he talked about it with passion with both Yuuri and Christophe. Yuuri didn’t even entertain the thought that Viktor didn’t love skating. Otabek was the type of skater that didn’t look like he loved skating, he loved jumping and technique. But Viktor, he loved it.

“Not really, I wanted to do ballet and play around, I never said ‘I want to do figure skating’, no.” Viktor said, not annoyed nor with ease, but simply stating it as a fact and he was still stroking Yuuri’s hair with lazy fingers.

“You don’t think that’s strange? That you were just… chosen to do it?” Yuuri thought it sounded strange, it sounded like they were using him for propaganda, like they were using his successes for their own good. Yuuri knew that Japan was also proud of him doing as good as many other western countries, and he was in Russia for a reason that he couldn’t understand, but it was his own choice. When he was 7, he hadn’t been taken away from his mother.

Viktor was silent, and then shuffled around in the bed, hugging Yuuri closer to him. “Perhaps, I haven’t thought about it.”

Yuuri continued to prod into the questioning, wanting to get to know more, but also hoping that he could make Viktor understand. “Your whole life is already decided, Viktor, doesn’t that bother you? Have you ever thought about doing something else?”

“Skating is all that I have, all that I like doing.” Viktor said softly. Yuuri knew that Viktor wasn’t the person to get angry, but he could sense that he was getting a bit annoyed. “I love skating, it’s not like I am forced, and I am good at it.”

The Japanese man didn’t want to argue with Viktor, and they both knew each other well enough not to, but tonight he couldn’t help himself. It would probably be the only night they had together in Leningrad. “You’re good at it because they made you good at it. If I didn’t have to go to school or work, and lived with a coach, I’d probably be better than I am now.” Yuuri didn’t believe that he would be better than Viktor, but someone like Christophe probably could probably be. “And,” Yuuri wasn’t sure if he should say it, and it took Viktor’s kind touch against his neck for him to be brave enough to do it, “You do take medication.” He held Viktor’s hand in his. “It’s odd to me that they seem to have _produced_ you.”

There was a moment of silence, but there wasn’t anything hostile in the situation. “I haven’t thought about it like that,” Viktor sighed. He knew that Yuuri was right, and it wasn’t as if he had never thought about it either, even if he claimed so. Viktor was given every opportunity to excel, more chances than anyone else. He could tell himself that it was because of communism, but his mother wasn’t given these chances. The man who cleaned the ice rink wasn’t. But he was.

“My biggest concern is why?” Yuuri said calmly as he continued to caress Viktor’s hand. “Everyone likes you, they write about you in newspaper, saying how fantastic you are. Your government must love it.”

“I guess,” Viktor said, listening to Yuuri and replying mostly to let him know that he was listening.

“How were things with your mother, Viktor? I doubt they were this nice.”

Viktor moved a bit, letting Yuuri hold onto both of his hands. “I don’t recall much,” he said at first. “They weren’t good no, we were poor and hungry, but that was because people didn’t embrace communism, it was the countryside and farmers have a hard time adjusting because they were oppressed for thousands of years without any revolution happening.” Viktor remembered the idea that the French revolution had not reached the farmers in the small town that he had grown up in and that was why they were poor. That it was why he and his mother had lived in a small room that they rented from a family who had 5 kids on their own. He was pretty sure that all they had actually rented was the bed and a dresser. “I was almost always hungry.” Viktor didn’t really want to think about it, but perhaps there was some truth in what Yuuri was saying. Perhaps he was being treated better than others just because he was a good skater. When Otabek had talked about his life prior to moving to Leningrad, which he had when he was 16, he spoke about poor living conditions, about outdoor life, about having to look for food in the wilderness. Things that Viktor had romanticized as the man and the Kazakh people living close to nature.

But hadn’t he spent his childhood with his mother in the laundry room she worked at? Hadn’t she nearly cried with his ballet teacher had told her she didn’t need to pay for his lectures as he was doing so well? And the few times he had eaten meat, hadn’t it been mostly pigs feet? He had loved it, but compared to what he ate now, wasn’t it strange? Wasn’t it strange that even though there had been an ongoing war, Viktor had been taken to Leningrad to practice figure skating. When most people was fleeing the city, living on nothing, he had been given good food, being in a safe place and learning how to skate. He had never lacked anything. But people had died in the war, they had died from hunger. Viktor knew that, and he knew that it was the Nazis fault, the Americans fault. But why had he been able to always go to bed with a full stomach?

Wasn’t it odd that Yakov would beat him? When he was younger he would get much worse than a slap if he didn’t do well. If he threw up from practicing too hard, Yakov had told him that he should always throw up, because it proved he worked hard. He had missed most of his schooling, but still had great grades, he lived comfortably and Yakov and his wife cared for him, but wasn’t it all… odd?

“You might have a point,” Viktor said. “But, that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

Yuuri nodded. “I didn’t say that, I just want you to know that perhaps you’re being used.”

Viktor nodded. “You make me feel things I have never felt before Yuuri.” Viktor hugged him closer again. “I didn’t think that there was more to life than skating, and casually sleeping with people, but since I met you, I have come to realise that there is so much more.”

Yuuri smiled. “I feel at ease with you Viktor, I feel more confident on the ice when you’re watching.”

Viktor loved hearing that Yuuri liked him so much, that he could help the skater with his anxieties that he had told Viktor about previously. They didn’t speak any more about the subject, but began to move around in the bed. “I could stay the night,” Viktor said and Yuuri nodded. He wanted to wake up next to Viktor for once. “Come here,” Viktor said and kissed him again.


	8. Chapter 8

The first time that Yuuri woke up next to Viktor would also be the only night they spent together in Leningrad. Viktor was hugging him close, his head against Yuuri’s chest as if he was hugging a pillow, and he slept like a baby, his blonde eyelashes resting against his cheeks. Yuuri laid still and watched him before waking him up, which proved to be harder than he had anticipated.

Christophe laid in his own bed, reading a book from the dim light that shined through the curtains. “Got back at four,” he said and smirked at Viktor once the man had managed to wake up. “You two behave like married people. I thought I’d find you in the middle of the act.” They got ready and went down to have breakfast together, and sharing a sink with the blonde man strangely made Yuuri’s heart flutter, even if they were just brushing their teeth.

Yuuri realised half way down the stairs how strange it would look and he kept a bit behind Viktor as they entered the dining hall together. Viktor had never had breakfast with them, and he wore the same clothes that he had yesterday. People looked at them, and while Guang-Hong waved at Yuuri smiling just like always, Yuuri felt how obvious everything was.

Such, he decided to leave Christophe and Viktor on their own and instead sat down with Guang-Hong, as he had done every morning. They were quite similar and Yuuri wished he had a friend like Guang-Hong. They couldn’t speak to each other that well, as neither spoke the other person’s language, and English wasn’t an option for Guang-Hong. But with the help of each other, napkins and katana, they tried to teach each other their languages. It went better and better each morning, and Yuuri had suggested that they should start writing to each other.

Viktor joined his side again as they got outside, and they were met by Yakov Feltsman, who completely shattered the illusion that everything was normal. The coach didn’t say anything but the way he looked at Yuuri was different. Viktor didn’t seem to notice it, but Yuuri felt how the man’s dark eyes rested on him, and it would cause him to be a little bit more cautious around Viktor for the rest of the trip. “I would appreciate a phone call,” Yakov said to Viktor and told him to sit down next to him, instead of joining Yuuri further back in the bus.

Yuuri tried to keep himself away from Viktor that day, to lay low. But it was hard and as Viktor showed Yuuri how to do triple jumps in the gymnastic hall, their hands were all over each other and Viktor wasn’t afraid to lift Yuuri, to play with him. And Yuuri forgot how they really shouldn’t, that Yakov was watching them. Viktor and Yuuri wasn’t really doing anything different than anyone else. The other Russian skaters wrestled each other, carried each other around and generally acted as if they were kids. Yuuri was just anxious because when Viktor touched him, he didn’t feel a friendly, helpful touch, he wanted Viktor to touch him more, he wanted what he had had yesterday evening with the man. Yuuri imagined that one could see that, when in fact one couldn’t.

Yakov saw it though, and so did Christophe, but that was because they knew what they were looking for.

Someone that also saw it, and despised it, was Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri sat next to Otabek during their joint lunches and dinners and told him how obvious it was. “He behaves like a girl around him,” he said during lunch that day as he was watching Viktor who was explaining that he made much better borscht than what they were being offered to the Japanese man, who smiled and laughed at him. Only looking at him. “Isn’t it gross?”

Otabek didn’t quite get why Yuri behaved as he did, said the things he did. He and Yuri had done things together, touched each other, and Yuri had never expressed liking girls either. So why was he so grossed out at the fact that Viktor loved someone? Otabek was just 18, and Yuuri a lot younger, and while he sometimes wondered if what they did was smart, Yuri was fifteen. “I don’t know, they just like each other.”

“It’s a disease you know, lots of aristocrats were like _that_ because they didn’t have anything else to do with their time.” Yuri pushed away his bowl, not feeling like eating. “And Viktor of all people?”

“I thought you didn’t like the Young Pioneers?” Otabek said, calmly taking Yuuri’s bowl to finish the food he had left.

The blonde boy shook his head. “I don’t.”

“So, stop spreading their lies?” Yuri

Fact was that the young, blonde boy wasn’t so sure himself of what he felt. He really liked Otabek, but like a friend. Just like a friend, but very close friends, and friends could sometimes do things that they did, right? Just because he liked to touch Otabek, that didn’t make him as gross as Viktor and the chink. Viktor’s obvious relationship with Yuuri Katsuki, had made Yuri begin to doubt that he and Otabek were just friends, that he just liked Otabek in the good way. He worried that perhaps he too was… a faggot. A gross, disgusting and immoral person that would become lazy, one that liked dressing up in girl clothes, who liked touching children and only cared about sex.

But he wasn’t those things, was he? He worked hard, he was a great skater and he wasn’t weak. Sure, he didn’t like the Young Pioneers and he knew that his views didn’t align with someone like Yakov’s or even Viktor’s. But just because he didn’t think that the Communist party was almighty and always right, it didn’t mean that he was immoral. Just because he liked Otabek in _that way_ , didn’t mean that he didn’t like the Communist party. They were two different things, not related to each other. And yet that was what they wanted him to believe. Yuri threw a look back at Viktor.

Perhaps Otabek was right, but Yuri was to proud to admit that. “That’s not propaganda, it’s true, they think so in all countries. Medical truths can’t be questioned by politics.” Yuri and Otabek often talked about communism, how it perhaps would work if it wasn’t a dictatorship, how odd it was that they sometimes got censured in their interviews and of course that Viktor was paraded around like a saint even though religion was despicable.

“So, what, don’t you like me?” Otabek asked, looking at Yuri who wished that he could hide his face as it immediately turned red. Yuri wanted to tell him that he didn’t like him _like that_. For a moment, he thought that he should tell him that he was gross for even suggesting it. But he didn’t want that, he wanted to tell Otabek that he indeed liked him, and that he wanted Otabek to be so obviously in love with him as Viktor was with Yuuri.

But he couldn’t say that, and especially not in a full restaurant. He was sure that he wouldn’t even say that if Otabek was a girl. So, the boy didn’t say anything at all, and after a while cleared his throat. “Do you want to go for a run with me later today?” Yuri asked.

Otabek smiled. “Through the forest?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. They’d probably divert from the track and instead walk through the small forest, hiding on top of a small hill, and just sit and talk, maybe make out with each other. They had done that a couple of times a week for the past two years, even when Yuri had been to little for Otabek to want to make-out with him. Otabek hoped that he would be able to make Yuri confess how he actually felt for him that evening, when the sun just barely made the air warmer.

Because Otabek really wanted to tell Yuri about how he felt.

 

* * *

 

Viktor clung to Yuuri during their last day together. “I don’t want you to go,” he complained. “Please stay.”

Yuuri laughed. “We’ll meet soon enough,” Yuuri said but he didn’t want to leave Viktor’s side either. If their roles had been reversed, and Viktor had been in Japan, Yuuri would have done anything in his power to make the man stay. “March will come before we know it.”

Emil Nekola smiled. “Good things come to those who wait,” the Czech skater said. “Right?” They were sitting in the empty dining hall, and had taken a commemorative photo together earlier. All skaters in one picture and Yuuri knew that he would treasure that picture. He had stood next to Viktor, and he could already imagine how pretty it would look on his desk.

They had held a small dance and just enjoyed themselves, their last evening together. It had not felt that strict, and Yuuri had even danced with the Japanese translator, Anna, and enjoyed himself. Perhaps due to the fact he was a bit drunk on Georgian wine. Yuuri was pleased with the camp, not only had he gotten to spend two weeks with Viktor, but he had also learnt a lot of new things and was thinking about changing his work-out routine at home.

Viktor laughed. “I can’t wait to meet all of you at the Europeans but Guang-Hong and Yuuri are the only ones I have to wait even longer to meet.” Viktor was sitting on the other end of the table, and like every other day the skaters were flocking around him like honey. Viktor was a very talented skater and everybody looked up to him. Even Yuuri did, and he had before he ever met him. He knew things that the other skaters did not though, about the asthma medication, about his upbringing, about how Viktor got to talk with officials. He felt uneasy about it, but didn’t let it affect him too much. And Viktor never seemed to reflect about those kind of things.

“I’ll see all of you in the nationals!” Viktor said in Russian, explaining what he had said to the others. “But these people, I won’t see until 1961. 1961!” Viktor said.

“I’ll have to see you tomorrow,” Yuri complained.

Yuri and Viktor didn’t feel too sad. Of course they both wished to be able to be with each other for longer, but the two weeks they had spent was the longest time they had ever been together. Asking for more would be greedy. Without this camp, they would have spent another 12 months apart from each other. This break made things easier. It was only the fourth time they met, and they had spent about 40 days together in total, but with their letters and so much more, their one and a half year together felt so much longer.

Saying goodbye was hard, but they would meet soon again, at the world championships of 1961 in Prague.

 

* * *

 

Viktor hated waiting. He had not thought about it before, but the more he was together with Yuuri, the more he missed him when he couldn’t be with him. He had thought that the time that they spent together, about the summer and he lived on those moments. When he touched himself, he thought of Yuuri in that park they had visited, he thought about his beautiful body as they did ballet, he thought about how cute he looked in light clothes. His letters were filled with declarations of his love, of how fun he thought the summer had been, always disguised as brotherly comradery, but still there. And he told Yuuri how much he despised waiting.

As the season began again, Viktor had other things to think about. But Yuuri was always in the back of his mind. If he stood on the ice and heard the faint music, the overture from _The Tsar’s Bride_ , he closed his eyes and thought about Yuuri. When he was out running, only hearing his footsteps drum against the ground, he thought about Yuuri, how he would much rather be out of breath doing something else. And he thought of Yuuri when he got to skate at a performance at the general secretary’s New Year’s Eve party. How weird it was to see all the people at a party with riches that Yakov had warned him about at the world’s banquets.

He had won the nationals as always, with Georgi finishing second, and if it wasn’t for that Yuri was still being counted as a junior, he probably would have been allowed to go with Viktor to the worlds as his points were much better than Georgi’s, who seemed more interesting in actually teaching kids and his girlfriend. This would be the first year that the Soviet Union had two spots in the men’s category, hence Georgi joining him. Which meant that Viktor and he would be sharing a room in Prague.

It didn’t matter that much, because Yuuri was going to be alone and Viktor didn’t mind going to his room. He didn’t think that Yuuri would care that much either. What mattered was that they got to be together, something that was perhaps more apparent to outsiders now than it had been before. Yakov was even more suspicious now than he had been before of the two men, and Georgi was going to start to wonder why Viktor was out almost every night. But Prauge was a small city, and they would be staying at the same hotel, just a couple of floors between them. Viktor would risk it, not caring if Yakov noticed or if he woke Georgi up.

But no one would ask him and Viktor would happily pretend that everything was alright. The Europeans went well, even if Georgi did bad, not being able to end up in the top ten. Viktor had to sit through Yakov yelling at both of them after beating Georgi up. “At least it shows that Viktor isn’t cheating, like they’re claiming he is!” the coach yelled, his face red. “Because if he was, then why wouldn’t we give your useless piece of shit drugs too?!” Viktor had felt uncomfortable at his words, but of course he had stayed silent. He didn’t want the same punishment as Georgie, who had had bruises and was not allowed to eat red meat until the worlds.

Viktor had much more important things to worry about at the worlds than his skating. Perhaps was it immoral of him, but at the moment he could, he made sure to head over to Yuuri’s room. He should be thinking about skating, stretching his muscles, and mentally preparing for the pressure and stress, but he would much rather be in Yuuri’s arms. He knocked on the door and leaned towards the wall, waiting for the Japanese man to open it. What would he say if someone opened their door and saw them together? He always had lies in place, just like Yuuri had.

Yuuri was beautiful. He had yet to change into his pyjamas and was obviously expecting him. Waiting for him. Just like they had been waiting for each other for 8 months. “Hey,” Yuuri said and smiled at him. “Come in.”

The radio was on, playing soft classical music. Yuuri’s room was smaller than Viktor’s and only fitted one double bed. Hotel rooms had become their place of meeting, their joint home. There was something anonymous in a place like that. They all looked the same in the end and it was easy to pretend that they were all the same. Every room just melted into one, into _their_ room. “I can’t stay for that long, because I think I woke up Georgi.”

“Where will you say you went?” Yuuri asked nervously. He doubted that Viktor’s friend would tell on him, but one could never know.

Viktor walked over to the radio, lowering the volume. “I’ll say I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. Nerves.” He grinned at Yuuri who smiled back at the man. “You look different,” Viktor said.

“I gained a bit of weight,” Yuuri embarrassingly admitted.

“Can you still jump?” Viktor asked.

“Yes,” Yuuri said and nodded, a slight blush over his cheeks. He had been eating too much, and he weighed a couple of kilos more than he should.

Viktor looked at him, then smiled. If it didn’t impair his skating skills, then Viktor didn’t care. “Suits you,” the Russian said and sat down on the bed. Yuuri joined him.

He had closed the curtains hours ago, and the soft, yellow light from the lamp by the bed was the only thing that had kept him company a he had waited for Viktor. That and the radio. He had missed Viktor, but it had been easier to wait for him this year, as he had not had to wait for that long.

Viktor began to kiss him and his hand rested surely on Yuuri’s thigh. Yuuri’s hands were stroking his chest and began to pull at Viktor’s sweater that he wore over his button-down shirt. Viktor’s lips were as soft and gentle as the first time, but Yuuri was far less nervous than he had been two years ago. They had had sex a handful of times, and yet it felt so natural, as if this was something they did all the time. Viktor made Yuuri feel completely comfortable and his hands felt familiar on his body. Viktor knew what Yuuri liked, what Yuuri wanted, just as much as Yuuri knew what Viktor enjoyed.

“I think about you all the time, Yuuri,” Viktor said as he unbuttoned the shirt, now wrinkly and not feeling like one of Yuuri’s shirts, that was always starched, always well fitting. “I sometimes miss it a lot you know, feeling someone else against my body, not just using my hand.”

Viktor’s hand trailed down Yuuri’s body, stroking his crotch as to illustrate his words. “Me too.” Yuuri looked into the blue eyes, blue eyes that looked a bit ashamed. Viktor had slept with someone else at one point early on, but he didn’t any longer. He had always thought that he just liked having sex with men, and Yuuri was the first one that he felt something deeper with than just an infatuation and wanting to see them naked. “I don’t want to be with anyone else than you though.”

Yuuri stroked Viktor’s hair, placing a strand behind his ear. They didn’t make things easy for themselves and while Yuuri thought about ending things so many times throughout the year. The black-haired man could lay awake at nights and think that things would be better for the both of them if they just decided to end things, Yuuri should find himself a wife, and Viktor could do what made him happy. Surely there were other persons for them to love, other lovers to have, other bodies to satisfy them. But Viktor was so much more than just another person, another body, someone that could use his body to make Yuuri come.

With Viktor, everything felt calm. The anxiety that always loomed over Yuuri was gone when he was with Viktor. Not fully, but Viktor had a great way of being able to soothe him, being able to make him feel a lot better. Hadn’t he done better in competitions when he got to know Viktor? He always got better scores at Worlds than he got at the Japanese Nationals, and perhaps they were being cheap with the six-pointers, but he didn’t think so.

Viktor usually held his hand as he fucked him. They had tried many things together, but if Viktor asked what he wanted to do, which he almost always did, whispering into his ear as his lips left wet kisses on his neck, Yuuri wanted to be fucked by Viktor as he wrapped his legs around his waist and looked into his blue eyes. Viktor would hold his hand, letting Yuuri squeeze it as he got adjusted to Viktor. It always felt uncomfortable, and while Yuuri in his teens had used all sorts of lubrication, he still wasn’t too sure about the Vaseline. “It feels so greasy?” he said and chuckled as Viktor was stretching him out. He was holding Viktor’s other hand, which rested on the bed. “Don’t use too much.”

“I don’t want to hurt you though,” Viktor said and kissed Yuuri’s stomach.

“You won’t, Viktor.”

Viktor laughed. “I feel like I should be insulted.” Yuuri began to laugh, which made Viktor pull his fingers out as he joined him in their giggle fit. They went back to just kissing each other, before they tried again.

It did hurt though, and it didn’t help that Viktor kissed him, that he pumped his cock in his hand. It would pass but for a moment Viktor had to look down on Yuuri with his eyes closed and in obvious pain, while he himself felt so good. It was only for a moment and soon they were kissing each other again. Viktor was rolling his hips and Yuuri embraced him, but Viktor didn’t like that Yuuri was in pain, even if for just a short time.

They always pulled out the bed from the wall if it was possible. They knew that with each other they were safe, but what if someone was awoken by their noises? What if they knocked on the door to ask them to keep it quiet, or worse, what if an employee knocked on their door? Some nosy German. Sure, Viktor could hide, but what if they were reported? Yuuri often thought about such things, he worried that someone would see them together, observing Viktor leaving and entering his room. What if there were photos of that, of Yuuri opening the door for Viktor in the dead of night. Of Yuuri waving good bye to him only dressed in a dressing gown? Someone could blackmail them. Someone could threaten them and Yuuri wasn’t sure he would be able to live under those circumstances.

But as they were having sex, Yuuri didn’t think about that. He didn’t think about anything else than how good things felt when he was with Viktor. All that he wanted his head to be filled with was the sensations of Viktor’s body against his, his cock brushing against his prostate, and their low, silent moans. Their panting, breaths heavier than if they had just stepped off the ice. The complete darkness surrounding them.

Viktor thought more. He looked at Yuuri and thought about how much he loved the smaller man, how beautiful and graceful he was, how much he loved him. As everything began to feel too good, he would usually bury his head in the nook of Yuuri’s neck. He’d usually come inside after Yuuri came and after pulling out, Viktor would usually stay on top of Yuuri, just enjoying that their naked bodies were close to each other. Viktor loved that he had a _usual_ with Yuuri. Their routine didn’t feel dull, but only comforting, as nothing in their relationship was normal.

Yuuri stroked his back and for a few minutes they just laid there together with each other. After a while, Viktor moved and looked at the clock. “I should get back, in case I woke up Georgi.” Yuuri nodded but he wanted nothing more than for Viktor to stay in the bed. “I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe I can spend the evening with you instead?” he suggested. The blonde man began to get dressed again, in the clothes that he had haphazardly thrown on in the dark in his own room.

Yuuri laid silent, but eventually moved to sit up in the bed, watching the athletic man in front of him. “Viktor, I want to live with you,” he said. His voice was low, and it felt as if it was the first time he voiced his true feelings.

“What?” Viktor asked and yawned as he was struggling to get his pants on. He looked back on the younger man and smiled at him, having honestly not heard what Yuuri had said.

Yuuri felt as if he had crossed a line, as if he by saying the words he did had made their relationship into something else. “Yeah, I want to live with you, as… as married couples do.”

Viktor’s smile grows brighter as he understands what Yuuri means. “I want that too, but how are we supposed to do that?” Viktor pulled the sweater over his head. Viktor sometimes imagined him and Yuuri in an apartment in Leningrad. They could adopt a kid? Or a dog. And train skaters together. But he had not thought too much about it.

“We could move somewhere else? Together. Live as bachelors, because rent is cheaper that way.” Yuuri smiled at him and Viktor chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. Yuuri sat silent, expecting Viktor to say something more, but Viktor didn’t, he just kissed his forehead. “See you tomorrow, then. Good luck with the figures.”

Yuuri didn’t bring it up again as they met throughout the week, but he wanted to. It just didn’t feel like the right moment.

As always, Viktor won, and Yuuri managed an honourable fifth place.


	9. Chapter 9

12 months passed slowly when every day meant that it was just a few more until you got to meet the person you loved. When letters were the only thing you had to think about the other person, the only way you could communicate with each other, it was hard.

It was hard to even reason to be together any longer. Yuuri thought about how Viktor hadn’t wanted to talk to him about living together with him, how he had not entertained the thought for more than a chuckle and it hurt him. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to live with Viktor, to be his forever. But did Viktor want that? Yuuri wished that he could ask the man, that he could speak to him and ask him again. But he couldn’t and they wouldn’t meet for months.

Yuuri wished that he had brought up the subject of his and Viktor’s future with the other man at the competitions, that he had tried to get a straight answer out of him. Perhaps things had been easier than. Viktor still sent his letters, and Yuuri sent his, but it wasn’t as if they could talk about how things would be if Viktor defected, if they got a house together, if they should get a dog together. Yuuri knew that his letters were being read, just as Viktor’s was, and it would be foolish to write anything in them that could make life harder for any of them.

It was easy to look for something else. Anything to fill the void, to make him think less about Viktor. Yuuri had met a girl after that summer. He had not been looking for someone, and it took him some time to understand that he really liked the woman in front of him. He had met her in September, when his new classmate had invited him to his birthday party at a restaurant. Yuuri took every chance he could to get out of his house and away from Viktor’s letters.

Her name was Yumiko, and she made him laugh the first time they met. Spending time with her made the hours pass quicker. They had similar interests, she complimented him and told him that he would do well. Yuuri really liked her. They started to spend more and more time together. They became friends, and perhaps there was something else growing between them

But if a little seed was sprouting in Yumiko’s chest, Yuuri’s heart held a fully-grown plant that he was tending to. Yumiko didn’t fit inside of his heart, but he couldn’t help but to let it blossom, even though the flower wouldn’t grow as large as Viktor’s flower was. Viktor’s flower was like a thorny rose, so beautiful but it had to be taken care of even if he couldn’t smell it, even if it scratched him. Yumiko grew into a little daisy, small but enjoyable and perfectly sweet.

He realised that he could imagine a life together with her when he once more found himself awake in the middle of the night, thinking about Viktor and life. He thought about how disappointed his parents would be if they knew that when he thought of his life, he couldn’t see one where he didn’t live with Viktor. And then he began to think of Yumiko, thinking that he could indeed imagine life with her too.

And that had set him off.

Thoughts he didn’t understand came into his mind, thoughts that he had not entertained for the past three years. He thought about quitting skating, about leaving Viktor and trying to focus on Yumiko, of building a life with her. Wasn’t that what he had dreamed about? Wasn’t that what he had worried that he would never desire?

And as Viktor was so far away from him, it was easy to let himself get wrapped up with Yumiko. They went on dates, together with others of course, Yumiko sat with him in the library when he studied. She said she would cheer for him in the nationals, which he once again won. Yumiko was there for him, and she listened to him without judging him. He didn’t to hide his feelings with her, but could smile towards her and walk close to her in public. Of course, they couldn’t spend time alone, but Yuuri liked that. There was nothing sexual in their relationship, and such Yuuri could pretend that that was what married life was.

It was too easy to let himself fall in love with the idea of Yumiko.

The idea of a woman that he liked, a woman that he could take home to his parents. She wasn’t just a woman, a friend that he liked. She was the solution to his issue, to his shame. It was so easy to let himself love her.

And when he had that, he realised that he had to let go of Viktor, which was also easy to do when he was far away from him. He told himself that it was impossible for them to live together, that it was impossible for them to have a life together. Viktor had not even seemed that interested. So why should they torture themselves with these meetings? The time they had spent with each other was not for nothing, because it had brought them happiness, but that was also all they had gotten out of it. Yuuri told himself that him and Viktor had a relationship that only lasted 7 days out of 365. How could they pretend that they would be together?

Yuuri began to tell himself that his body was getting weaker, that the few extra kilos around his hips weren’t going to come off any time soon. Didn’t his joints hurt? He wasn’t that good, and there was a young skater that was almost scoring as good as him, who deserved the spot more than the aging man did. Maybe he should retire? He thought about it more and more, about how he would graduate from the university that summer. Wouldn’t it be a good opportunity to stop skating, to get married and to find a job? Wasn’t that the dream that he had never desired outside of what he thought was right?

“I think you should do what makes you happy, Yuuri,” Yumiko said as he told her about his thoughts. Not about marriage, but skating. “You are very talented though.”

Yuuri had already made up his mind. Or at least he thought he had.

He practiced what he was going to tell him. _Tell Viktor_. He decided that on the first day, he would go to his hotel room, knock on the door and explain himself. He would tell him, with a straight back and head held high, that he loved him, but that it was better if they stopped seeing each other. He would tell him that he had found a girl and that he wanted to get married.

He wouldn’t tell him that it was painful to think about him. That it was painful to long for the man. That anxiety tied his body to the bed when he laid awake at nights, thinking of their impossible future.

Yuuri just wanted to keep to the positive things. He wanted to tell Viktor how much he loved him, how happy he was. He would tell him that he wished he would find someone to get married to, that he too would get a family, that everything that Viktor wanted in life would happen.

But they had to end it. Because it was too painful.

Viktor would be so sad, Yuuri imagined. He would cry, and Yuuri would have to be strong and stand by his words. Perhaps he would allow himself one last kiss. Perhaps Viktor would convince him to have one last night together. Yuuri wondered if he would be able to say no.

He had his speech. He knew what to say. He knew what to do. It was all planned, all worked out. And he was still terrified.

Yuuri stood outside the room for far too long. He almost didn’t want to knock on the door as he knew what he would have to do. He would have to tell Viktor that he wanted to end things, that he no longer wished to be together with him. But, how could he? He loved Viktor. But Viktor and he didn’t have a future together. Their love was illegal in some countries, a disease in others. They couldn’t have a life together. If Viktor had said he wanted it, then maybe Yuuri wouldn’t have thought about it like that. But now he did.

In some places, they would kill them if they spoke openly about how they felt. Yuuri’s parents would probably never speak to him again if he told them how he felt about Viktor. The Soviet man himself would probably get sent to a work camp somewhere, or at least be kept away from the public eye. They were despised by people who knew what they were.

They were ill, and Yuuri sometimes told himself that it was insane to keep going back to the source of the virus. But Viktor wasn’t a virus, he was the person that brought Yuuri peace and happiness. Even when Yuuri had spent a full day with Yumiko laughing and having fun, he never felt as good as he did when he read Viktor’s handwritten letters.

The thought of never receiving such a letter again made the young boy’s heart tremble. How could he leave Viktor? Yuuri had knocked on the door, and Viktor had opened. He looked so beautiful. Different from Yuuri’s memories, but so beautiful. A little bit older, a different hair-cut but with the same blue, beautiful eyes. He had seen a few pictures, but seeing Viktor in real life was completely different. Yuuri realised that he must look so different too.

“I like your glasses.” Viktor spoke as if they had met earlier that afternoon, as if all the time they had spent apart was but an hour.

All the thoughts Yuuri had had during the autumn, during his walk to the hotel, were gone. He just wanted to kiss Viktor, he wanted to be held by the man, and he wanted to see him laugh. He wanted to talk to him so badly, he wanted to hear Viktor speak Russian. Yuuri wanted to be with Viktor, and his body was pressed against Viktor’s before his brain had the time to process it.

They fucked, and it was the best sex Yuuri had ever had. None of them gave a fuck if someone heard them, if they were doing something bad. They laughed together, kissing each other in between the moans, only to change to something much rougher in the next moment. Yuuri didn’t think about how wrong it was to do this to Viktor, to not tell him about his feelings, to not tell him that while he had not even held Yumiko’s hand, he had imagined a life with her instead of Viktor. He just wanted to fuck him, he wanted to have Viktor.

It was so natural, like they always did this, like there was no issues with anything that they were doing. As if they could tell their parents that they were getting married next summer. Yuuri brushed through Viktor’s hair afterwards, smiling for himself. They stayed like that for what felt like ages, but was no more than a couple of minutes, before Yuuri began to recall what he had planned to say before he saw Viktor. He tried to not think about it, tried to think of something else instead. But Viktor noticed. “What’s bothering you?” Viktor brushed Yuuri’s hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek as he did.

Yuuri was silent, and then looked into the man’s eyes. Should he say something? Should he just let it pass? No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Viktor without saying anything, even if it would be much easier to just leave after the championships and never come back. To change his address. And simply never talk to him again. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Viktor smiled at him, nodding. “What is it?”

Yuuri repeated the speech in his head. He should have told him earlier, he should not have let it go this far. He should have stopped him immediately, not let Viktor kiss him. He should have stopped him and told him what he wanted. Now, he had led Viktor to believe that everything was fine, when it wasn’t. The blonde man was smiling at him, playing with his hair as he rested on the bed. “I am planning on retiring.” The words came out of his mouth with hesitation at first, but then very quickly.

“Retiring from what?” Viktor asked and Yuuri realised that he had yet to grasp the situation.

Yuuri moved away from Viktor, not being able to be near him. “From figure skating, Viktor. From competing. I’m 23 years and this summer I’ll graduate from university, so I’ll have to find a job and then I won’t have time for it any longer.”

Viktor was completely silent and Yuuri heard how he moved around in the bed. Yuuri took a deep, shaky breath. “I want to have a family.” _Silence._ “I want to have a house and a garden, a job and co-workers.” _Silence._ “I don’t want to interrupt my life every December and March to skate, to compete.” _Silence._ “So I’ve decided that I’m going to retire from skating after this championship.” This wasn’t at all what he had planned on saying.

Viktor didn’t say anything but got up from the bed. He was naked still and for a moment, Yuuri was scared that the man would leave him without another word. But the man just moved away from him, leaning towards the wall, looking out over the vast Italian mountains covered in snow. He said nothing.

“I’m 23, I’m getting old, and my body isn’t what it used to be. I’m the best skater Japan has ever had, but I’m never going to beat you, Viktor, or Yuri next year for that matter.”

_Silence._

Yuuri moved himself, sliding down to the end of the bed, and looked at Viktor. “It’s not like we could have that together, Viktor.” They could not have a family, they could not have a life together. “We have to stop tricking ourselves into believing that we can have a relationship that only blossoms for one week a year.”

_Silence._

“Or what? You’re going to be 27 next time we met, in a few years you will also be too old, and no asthma medication in the world can keep you in the sport for forever. Then what?”

Viktor finally spoke. “We could become coaches.”

It was not what Yuuri had hoped to hear. “You’re dreaming, Viktor, and even so, we still wouldn’t meet each other more than a few hours a year. I can’t live like that Viktor.” Yuuri put his feet down on the cold floor, wondering if he should go over to the man. He had not wanted things to go like this, he had wanted to be braver. It wasn’t easy, he had not planned on it being easy. “I want a normal life, Viktor. I have to retire.”

There was almost a minute of silence. Yuuri looked over at the man, who he loved so much. More than he loved anything in the whole world. But it had to end, they couldn’t continue pretending that things were going to solve themselves.

”And?” Viktor finally spoke, fiddling with the fabric of the curtains.

”I’m not sure I can do this Viktor.”

Viktor continued to look out the window, not replying for a long time. “Do what?”

They both knew exactly what Yuuri meant. They had spent three year apart and would spend another one just as far away from each other. If they had an end goal, then maybe Yuuri would find it easier. Yuuri wanted to hold Viktor’s hands and talk to him about what kind of house he wanted to buy, what they should name their dogs, what kind of breakfast Viktor liked to eat. But neither of them said such things, Viktor didn’t seem interested in that kind of life and Yuuri never dared to speak about it.

And of course, it was impossible. If they had both been American, or French, or Australian, they could have easily moved in together. They would have told their neighbours they were bachelors, sharing rent, but one bedroom would always stay untouched with a thick layer of dust over it. Maybe it would have worked if they were both Japanese too, and even Soviet Russians. But their obstacle was that Viktor wasn’t allowed to leave the dictatorship he was living in, and Yuuri did not want to move there, as he would never be allowed back to Japan.

Yuuri didn’t have to reply to Viktor, and his dark eyes never left the beautiful man, who was illuminated by the faint light from the stars and moon’s reflection in the white, pure snow. Yuuri was the one who was silent this time, waiting for Viktor to speak. He hoped that he would, he really did, because he didn’t want this to be the end, even though he knew it had to be.

“I can defect.” Viktor slowly turned around, looking at the man on the bed. “I will defect, Yuuri, just please, don’t leave me.”

Yuuri looked at him, it was the words he wanted to hear, and if Viktor had said them last year his heart would have fluttered, but now? Yuuri only heard them as being completely unrealistic. “Where are we going to live then Viktor?”

He could hear how Viktor swallowed his tears, and he couldn’t look at him. “The United States? Canada? I’m not dangerous, and I’m high-profile. France helped Rudolf Nureyev,” for a moment their eyes met. “That ballet dancer? Last year, remember? He defected, and everything went fine.”

Yuuri nodded slowly. “Next year is in West Germany though,” he said slowly. “In Dortmund.”

“That’s not far from France, and West Germany would help me, I’m sure.” Viktor nodded at his own words. “It’s not uncommon, people defect all the time.” Viktor knew that they would do. They would tear down his picture from the glass case in the ice rink. They would hide his medals away, and those pictures of him with the smiling children he taught would never be printed again. The magazines with his pictures in it at libraries would be burnt, and his name would be taken out of books. They would revoke his medals, scrape his name of the trophies for the Russian Nationals, instead giving them to Georgi. The U.S.S.R. would rather forget he ever existed rather than having to tell their people that Viktor defected.

“Why can’t you do it now?” Yuuri was crying, soft tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to wait any longer, I don’t want to wait another year, Viktor.”

“I can’t do it now, I can’t.” Viktor shook his head. “I am nor prepared, I have to say goodbye. To mum…” Viktor’s voice cracked. “Just because I haven’t seen her in years, it doesn’t mean I’m not prepared to never see her again.” Yuuri reached out his hand to the other man, who took a few steps forward, grabbing it. “And Yuri, Otabek. Even Yakov. They’ll be fucked over from it, and I can’t just… Yuri is a great skater, if he gets on the podium, he’s fine. Otabek will be fine because Yuri will care for him. And Yakov knows people.” Viktor sank down to his knees, kissing Yuuri’s hand. “But I can’t just leave them.”

“I know.”

Viktor took a deep breath. “I love you Yuuri, please just give me one more year, just one more year, and I will never leave your side again.” He pressed Yuuri’s hand against his chest and looked up at the man, who was crying, hiding his face in his free hand. “It’s just 12 months, and we’ll live together. We’ll buy a house, and I’ll be able to tell you how much I love you every single morning.”

Viktor pried Yuuri’s hand away from his face, wiping away his tears. The younger man let Viktor do so, leaning against his hand. “I don’t want to wait, Viktor.”

“I don’t want to wait either.” Yuuri heard how Viktor tried to hide that he was close to crying, and the young skater placed his hands around Viktor’s had, pulling him to his lap to hug him.

This was not what Yuuri had planned. This was not how he had imagined this meeting, it was not how he had wanted it to go. “I’ll wait for you, Viktor.” Yuuri felt the man’s arms around his waist, how he hugged him. “I love you.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri placed well that year. He considered himself to be at the peak of his career, and he doubted that he would ever do better than the fourth place he came in. It was disappointing to know that he would never share a podium with Viktor, who of course won, with Yuri Plisetsky ending up with a bronze medal, and a Canadian skater taking silver.

Viktor had smiled and waved to the audience, and Yuuri had watched him from the side of the rink. Viktor wouldn’t be standing on that podium the next year, but instead be hiding in an embassy. But then again, how many years in a row could a man win the world championships. Viktor had won 5 times in a row and was on par with people like Karl Schafer.

“He’s too charming, isn’t he?” Yuuri turned around and saw Christophe. He greeted him warmly, hugging him close. He had missed Christophe, as he had enjoyed hanging out with him, but he had not missed the other man in the same way that he had missed Viktor. They hadn’t spoken much since that summer in Leningrad, and while they had exchanged a couple of letters, it wasn’t like his and Viktor’s friendship. Yet, Yuuri and him had had dinner together in Cortina d’Ampezzo, without Viktor.

Yuuri smiled. “Very charming.”

Christophe looked at Yuuri with a faint smile on his lips. “He told me you two were still _friends,_ ” the Swiss skater said. He had finished fifth, just a few points after Yuuri. Yuuri nodded slowly, as he knew what the man meant with the word “friends”. They loved each other and if Viktor had been a girl, he would have had a ring on his finger by now. Yuuri knew that Christophe didn’t cling to his partners for long, and he knew that Viktor wasn’t known for that either. Perhaps it surprised the blonde skater that Yuuri and Viktor was still together. “He told me what you two have talked about,” Christophe said. “I hope you’ll be happy together.”

Yuuri smiled. “You have spoken with each other?”

Christophe nodded at him. “You know as well as I do that Viktor lives for skating.” Christophe’s words were a bit cold, but Yuuri knew that he only meant well. Christophe wasn’t the one to preach to Yuuri, but Yuuri appreciated him and knew that the man only meant well. He remembered how nice he had been to him in Leningrad, as well as the advice he had given to him about Viktor and the U.S.S.R. “He won’t give it up easily, he was made to skate, even though he denies that himself,” Christophe rolled his eyes. “He tells me he doesn’t care about the fame, but he loves it.” Yuuri nodded in agreement, he thought the same thing about Viktor, who would always look so proud when he spoke about the posters and interviews he did. “Yuuri, promise me that if Viktor doesn’t follow through with his promise to you, you must leave him.” Christophe looked at Yuuri. The national anthem of the Soviet Union was dying out, the last tones being echoing through the arena. “You deserve better than him, and you seem far better than a tyrannical country.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew that the other man was right. Christophe knew Viktor just as much as Yuuri did. Christophe had spent two strange weeks together with Yuuri in Leningrad. And he knew that Viktor’s words were perhaps nothing more than an empty promise. But Yuuri didn’t want to believe that. “I know.”

Christophe smiled. “Now, that doesn’t mean I don’t hope he’ll come with you!” The Swiss skater laughed and patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “Next year, I want you to drag him out, and if you do it before the competitions begin, I’d be very happy so I got a chance at winning for once!”

Yuuri laughed. “You must promise to help me!”

“I will, Yuuri. I will!”

 


	10. Chapter 10

With a firm limit, with an end date in mind, Yuuri found it easier to live his life. This would be the last time that they spent this much time apart.

Yuuri did what he always did, he appeared in some interviews, he studied, and while he was still together with Yumiko, he tried to cool things of between them without being outright mean to her. She got the hint after a few months and left Yuuri over the summer. Gradually seeing him less and less. It was better that way, and Yuuri allowed himself to happily think about life together with Viktor, to imagine him in his bed as he woke up in the morning. He began to imagine a life with him, and he was so happy.

He continued to skate, redacting all his plans to stop. He had not told anyone, not even his parents, but his coach had known of course. When he had told him that he was indeed not retiring, Sasuki had looked at him. “But I thought you were sure about?” he had said but when Yuuri stated that he had changed his mind, the coach had no issues with letting the best skater in Japan train under him for one more season.

His body was not what it had been and while he was looking for jobs, he didn’t take it that seriously, but instead devoted himself to skating for one last year. He and Viktor could maybe open a little skating school, but neither of them would skate professionally again. Yuuri imagined them going to the Worlds in 1964, to cheer on Chris or Minami together. It wouldn’t look strange and Yuuri wanted to go back to Colorado Springs were it all began.

Yuuri was doing well at the nationals, still being the best skater in Japan, even if he was getting old. Yuuri skated for Viktor. He knew that if he didn’t skate well, he wouldn’t get to go to the worlds and if he didn’t do that, he and Viktor would never meet.

Kenjirou Minami was the second-best skater that year, which was impressive for it being his first time in the seniors. He was a cute boy, still a teenager, who would do great once Yuuri actually retired. “I have been looking up to you for years,” the boy confessed. “Since your first worlds, in Colorado, I’ve been following you and dreaming about being as heroic as you!”

Yuuri blushed at the boy’s words as they were waiting for their time to get their medals. “Next year, you’ll be the one going to the Worlds, and the Olympics.” Yuuri told him with a smile. He was uncomfortable in the role as a teacher, but he tried to sound encouraging to the younger boy.

“You’re retiring?!” The boy nearly shrieked, disrupting the light music and ambience from the women’s medal ceremony. “You can’t do that! You’re still so good.”

Yuuri could feel himself blush even more at the boy’s words. “I was going to this year but decided to stay for one more year.”

“I’m so happy you didn’t, this is my senior debut and I have been looking up at you for ages.”

Yuuri was flattered and told Kenjirou that he would do much better than him next year. In fact, he thought that it was unfair that he wasn’t going to the worlds this year, to get some practice and not letting the Olympics be the first international event that Kenjirou competed in.

But just like he had made sure to be the best skater in Japan to be allowed to go to the Worlds, he had to go there. He had to see Viktor, he had to help him.

Because Yuuri didn’t think that Viktor would dare to go on his own.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards Yuuri would think about what would have happened if Christophe had not been arrested during the summer, having been caught “seeking to perform indecent acts” in Italy. There was quite a scandal at the time, and while homosexual activity wasn’t illegal in Christophe’s home country, it was in Italy, which meant that the Swiss government had to fight to get Christophe back. There wasn’t a day that the newspapers didn’t write about, that they didn’t gossip about it, and when Christophe finally came back to Switzerland his character was defamed.

He wasn’t described as the handsome bachelor he had been before, and even if the magazines didn’t write anything derogatory, they almost didn’t touch on _what_ had happened in Italy, they speculated and went as close as they could.

It didn’t get better when Christophe in a radio interview said that he was homosexual. They had apparently been talking about the diplomatic crisis, what had happened and the host had given Christophe the chance to redeem himself to the Swiss people. “Well, the Italian police isn’t exactly known for their competence, are they?” the host had laughed. “Must have been infuriating to have to spend time in jail because of a mistake like that? To be accused of homosexuality?”

“Well, I am homosexual, and I was in that bathroom to find someone, so let’s not be too harsh to the Italians.” Yuuri had heard what he had said, and even if he didn’t speak French, he could admire how casually Christophe had delivered that line.

The host had gone quiet for a moment and then he had laughed, and gone to his next question to Christophe. It did change some people’s view of him to the nicer, as if they should feel sorry for him, as he was considered to be ill, while most people began to bark even harder for his punishment. Christophe’s skating career was over, the Swiss people didn’t want a homophile to represent them at international competitions.

Christophe didn’t seem to grief over it though. In his letters to Yuuri, which Yuuri retold to Viktor with great care, the man wrote about his honest feelings. He was sad that he would never get to compete again, that his days on the ice were numbered, and that no matter what he did again, he would be judged over it because of his sexuality. _I had to stop working at the clinic too but I moved to Zürich though and it’s beautiful here!_ Christophe had written so carefree as he was telling Yuuri about his plans, his life from now on. He wanted to move to the US after a few years, and maybe start coaching someone. Of course, it would take a few years, Christophe wrote, because he had to let the gossip had to die down. _Overall I feel freer, less anxious and feel like I have opened new paths for me._

Perhaps Yuuri should have let Christophe’s positive attitude affect him. But Yuuri had just worried. He had been reading the letters, the newspapers and magazines with great care as anxiety swept over him. When he laid in bed, thinking of Viktor, he imagined that the police would storm into the room and arrest them, that they would have their faces plastered over the news. That they would be called debauched, immoral, a disgrace for Japan and the Soviet Union. Yuuri almost burnt the photographs, but he couldn’t.

No one questioned Yuuri’s and Christophe’s relationship, that they had been to Leningrad together, nor that he had been seen with Viktor on several occasions. Yuuri felt selfish when he thought about that, as Christophe’s life was ruined. At least he didn’t distance himself from the man, but replied to his letters, just as he had been doing up until then.

It was safe to say that that summer was not spent like the last one. Yuuri had turned down the invitation to the summer camp, explaining to Viktor that he didn’t want to fuel any more rumours or gossip, and while Viktor understood, he thought that Yuuri was being overly cautious. Viktor didn’t see Christophe’s confession, his coming out as something bad, and he hoped that once he and Yuuri got settled somewhere, they would be able to do the same. Maybe not _as_ openly, but at least to their circle of friends and family.

And the autumn passed quickly. Viktor and Yuuri began to write about things like what kind of breakfast they ate, sharing recipes for food, arguing about landscaping. It was very domestic but not enough for the person that read their letters to truly caught on. Yuuri wrote more cautiously than Viktor, almost every letter talking about how he was looking forward to getting married and starting a family, as if they were planning two separate lives and not one together.

The winter came and went, and spring was beginning to sneak into Japan as March approached. 1963 would be the best year of Yuuri’s life. He would finally be living with Viktor. He had been planning everything carefully, making sure that he had money saved up, that he had some sort of plan of their life together.

Viktor on the other hand had not thought much about it. It wasn’t until Yuuri started to talk about gardening and breakfasts in his letter that he was reminded that he had promised to do something that he actually didn’t know if he wanted. And the date was coming closer and closer.

Viktor went on many walks that winter. He walked around in Leningrad in the cold and thought. And the more he thought, the more scared he got. He realised that he would never get to set his foot in the city again. That he would never get to skate again. That he would never get to see his friends again. It scared him.

Before, Viktor had not thought a lot about what it would mean for him to leave the Soviet Union. He had not considered what would happen to him. He had not had to sacrifice anything in his dreams about spending time with Yuuri. He had never had to give anything up, and he realised that in Cortina d’Ampezzo he had told Yuuri that he would defect because he was more scared about losing Yuuri than he was leaving the Soviet Union. But he wasn’t sure that it was true.

He would never get to see his mother again. He went to visit her for his 27th birthday, and she looked so frail. She had a nice apartment, and it was warm. She had food and looked much better off than the last time he had seen her, not even 50 yet but looked much older. His mother was tiny, frail and he knew looked like the men on the posters. All he was to his mother was a man on a. She held his hands and told him that it was all because of him, that because of him she had been given this apartment, that she got food and that people respected her. _The countryside_ , Viktor had thought amused as he was with her, but on the train back home he thought that people in Leningrad was also getting favours from everyone.

That wasn’t communism. That wasn’t equal.

What would happen to her if he left? Her hands that had held his was small and weak, shaking with arthritis and she complained how much in pain she was. She had spent her life on her knees, her hands in cold water, and now she worked with accounting. What if they made her go back to washing people’s clothes?

The more Viktor thought, the more scared he became. He loved Yuuri, but was he prepared to leave everything behind?

He wasn’t sure.

But the world championships came whether he was ready or not. Dortmund wasn’t far away from West Germany’s capital. Nor France.

Viktor’s hands was shaking on the plane. “Do you need a pill?” Yakov asked him, but Viktor shook his head.

“Just nervous.”

Yakov raised his eyebrows. “You’re never nervous,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The day had come. They had decided that it was better to do it as early as possible as they had met the first day. Yuuri had told him all about his plans, that they would take a taxi to the train station, take the night train to Bonn and then to the American embassy (“Do you want to go to America? I guess Germany would also take you”, Yuuri had said).

The night before the competitions began, Yuuri went over to Viktor’s room.

Yuuri snuck into Viktor’s room as so many times before. But this time there was something different in the air, it felt exciting for a different reason. Yuuri was ready for their life together to begin. “I wish we could fuck first,” Viktor joked with Yuuri as he was sitting on the bed, Yuuri going through the plans. They were both so nervous, and Yuuri’s giggle showed that.

“So, are you ready?” the Japanese man asked him. The clock would soon strike midnight, the church bells would sound all over Dortmund. Perhaps like an alarm bell.

Viktor looked up at his Yuuri with his blue eyes, he really loved Yuuri. “Always ready,” he said, making Yuuri smile. It was reassuring that Viktor took everything so calmly when Yuuri felt like a nervous wreck himself.

Yuuri nodded. “Are you bringing anything?” he asked, but knew that Viktor couldn’t exactly bring a suitcase. It would look too suspicious. Not that leaving the hotel wasn’t suspicious, but Viktor could just pretend that he had wanted to go for a walk. But no one went for a walk with a suitcase packed with clothes and all the worldly possession they had. Yuuri wasn’t sure what the officials that came with Viktor would do if they caught him. Would they drag him away and never allow him to leave their sight again? Did they only have one chance.

“I’m wearing a lot of clothes.” Viktor laughed and nervously pulled a hand though his hair. “And I have some pictures.” He had not been sure what to pack as he stood in his room in Leningrad. He had lived in that room since he was 8, and fitting twenty years of his life in a suitcase wasn’t possible.

He didn’t have that much either way. Even if he had spent twenty years in that room, he didn’t have many things of value. His medals and ribbons were kept in museums, behind panes of glass. He didn’t own much, and the money he won he had always proudly given back to the state. So all he had was pictures. There were the pictures of him and Yuuri, of him with his friend, his parents from when they were young. He didn’t care for worldly possessions, and there was nothing that he had that he could not replace. The only thing was his skates, both those he used for figures and the ones he skated in. He had not gotten new ones for three years and the leather was shaped after his feet after using them for ours each day. He wanted to bring them, but knew that it would look suspicious if he was caught.

He’d have to leave them behind.

Yuuri leaned down and gave the taller man a kiss. “I’m ready to start a life with you,” he said.

“I can’t wait until I get to wake up next to you,” Viktor said and stroked Yuuri’s black hair. “I’ve always wanted to fall asleep next to you and know that when I wake up again, you’ll be there. I want to be close to you for more than a few hours.” Viktor spoke with a voice braver than he felt. He was nervous, scared of the change that was about to come. He had thought that it would be easier than this. Viktor had always liked change, he had liked surprises and challenges, but now, when he was going to leave his whole life behind, he wasn’t so brave any longer.

He would never be able to compete again. Would he even be able to skate? What if no country wanted him? Or what if he would fail, if he would be caught? What would happen to Yuuri if that happened? Viktor swallowed. He thought about Christophe, how he had done a single mistake and now his life was completely different. He couldn’t skate. He couldn’t work. Yuuri said that Christophe was happy, but even Yuuri had not seemed to believe that.

Viktor was about to do a much bigger mistake.

Yuuri could feel how tears burned behind his eyelids. He had waited for this moment for four years. And it was finally here. He knew things wouldn’t go quickly, that they wouldn’t find themselves living together next Friday. But he could wait for a few months if it meant that him and Viktor got to spend a lifetime together. And it would be different to wait for him this time.

It was the difference of waiting for an engagement and waiting for the wedding to take place. They could enjoy their time together, write letters, and when the time was ready, Yuuri would move in with Viktor. It wouldn’t even look suspicious. Yuuri was a translator, why wouldn’t he want to live in the US? “Let’s go then.”

Viktor nodded and kissed Yuuri one more time, before leaving the hotel room. They turned off the lights, and Viktor jokingly asked if he should bring his toothbrush.

It was the first time they left the hotel room together in the middle of the night. Usually it was only one person that had to sneak out, but now they walked down the deserted and empty corridors all by themselves. Viktor was scared of making any noises, and even more terrified of someone catching them. They took the stairs, rather than using the noisy elevator down to the lobby. Yuuri stroked Viktor’s shoulder as they got out of the hotel and started to walk.

“Are you cold?” Viktor asked Yuuri after a while. It had begun to snow and it was cold outside, their breaths hanged in the air like smoke. Viktor noticed that just like their steps seemed to sync up, they were breathing in rhythm too.

Yuuri shook his head. “I’m fine, Viktor, thanks.” Viktor nodded but kept close to the other man. Yuuri had wanted to take every precaution and ordered the taxi to an address that was a bit from the hotel. He figured that they would have a lot more time to make sure that no one was following them.

It was so silent that not even the most skilled spy would have been able to catch them. It was a relieve, and Yuuri felt that freedom was closer than he had previously thought. “It’s just around that corner.” Yuuri said and smiled at Viktor, who looked a bit pale. Which was understandable, he was after all running from a very dangerous regime. He could lose his life for this if he was caught. Or he would lose his life for it if he wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov. Still, the skater would face some sort of consequences, but maybe not as harsh as others.

It was a little roundabout in an alley that Yuuri had chosen because it looked secluded, but yet a places from where two people could need to be picked up from in the middle of a cold, snowy night. A single streetlight illuminated it, and it was fully deserted. There were residential homes all around them, but each and every window was dark except for one. That did not make Yuuri become less careful though. “This is it,” Yuuri said and stood close to Viktor.

They waited.

Perhaps things would have been easier for them if the taxi had already been there. If Christophe had stood on Viktor’s other side and joked with them. If things had been different.

But they weren’t.

Viktor was given time to think. Not to think with his intellect, but rather with his emotions, especially the emotion that was beating inside his heart, roaring in his chest and making his crotch tickle. He was scared of the new things that would come. He was terrified of what was happening. And he realised that he couldn’t do it. He realised that he couldn’t do what Yuuri wanted him to do.

How many minutes took it for him to say it? To gather up the courage to say that he was scared? That he couldn’t? If he had spoken sooner, maybe Yuuri had been able to calm him. But he didn’t speak quickly, but let the cold silence fill the void, and his mind, with more ideas.

”I can’t do it, Yuuri.”

Viktor Nikiforov’s accent was much better than it had been four years ago. He pronounced the words with ease. Snowflakes stuck to their thick coats, and the lonely street-light illuminated them in the middle of the night. Their cheeks were getting stiff from the cold caresses of the late winter, and Yuuri’s leather gloves didn’t make his fingers any warmer.

It was so serene. The silence laid over them like a heavy blanket, as if the sounds from the outside world couldn’t travel through the mace that the snowflakes made. There was no storm, there wasn’t even wind, the snow was falling peacefully. Viktor’s hair looked wet, but Yuuri’s looked like a starry summer night, with dots strewn over the black hair.

“I can’t.” The words came again, as if they would make more sense if the older man spoke them again.

Perhaps they had both known that this was how it would go. “All you have to do is to get into the taxi, Viktor.” Yuuri spoke softly.

Viktor shook his head and took a few steps away from Yuuri. He looked so beautiful in the beige wool coat, the red scarf contrasting to his fair colours. “Yuuri, I…” Warm tears roll down Yuuri’s cheeks, blurring his vision. _Not now_ , he thought, _not now_. He wanted to see Viktor, he wanted to look at him. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes, to get the teas away. He wanted to see Viktor.

“Why not?” Yuuri looked at him. “Why can’t you leave?”

Viktor didn’t have an answer for Yuuri. He really did not. But he knew that he could not get into the taxi. He knew that he couldn’t defect, that he couldn’t leave that life behind. Viktor was terrified. He thought about his things, about his photographs, the medals he had won, the things that he had achieved. He thought about Easter cakes and his mother. He thought about Georgi and Yuri and Otabek. He even thought about Yakov.

In front of him stood the man that made his heart beat faster every time he thought about him. But right now his heart was beating out of fear. Viktor once more shook his head and reached out to grab Yuuri’s hands, but the younger man pushed him away. “I can not live like this Viktor,” Yuuri said as tears streamed down his cheeks behind his glasses.

Viktor lowered his head. “I understand.”

Yuuri tried again. “Please, Viktor.”

How long did they stay silent? Viktor’s nose was beginning to turn red as he stood there, curled together with a blanket of snow over him. “I can’t defect, I can’t do it.”

“Please come with me, Viktor.”

One last attempt. Viktor stood silently still. He was so beautiful, his ash blonde hair falling into his face. Yuuri didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be able to look at Viktor. He wanted to cup his cheeks and kiss him, grab his hand and give him courage.

But someone could see them.

Yuuri tried his best not to hide his hands in his face, but tears streamed down his face. He didn’t want to cry, but how couldn’t he?

Viktor took a step backwards, now standing too far away for Yuuri to grab him. He didn’t say anything, but through his blurred vision, Yuuri saw how the man wiped away a tear. _This is how I am going to remember him,_ Yuuri thought to himself. Viktor was beautiful even when crying.

The taxi arrived, it’s headlights illuminating them both. Yuuri stood still, and his mouth moved to form a final please that was drowned out by the sound of the car horn. Yuuri looked at Viktor who stared towards the car with a scared expression. The Japanese man moved first, taking a step towards the car, and when the other man didn’t follow, he accepted that it was how it was going to be. How it was going to end.

There was no last kiss. There were no final good byes.

Yuuri went back to the hotel in the taxi, and he saw Viktor at breakfast that morning. Sasuki was reading a book, Yuuri was eating toast and Viktor sat with his coach and Yuri Plisetsky. Their eyes didn’t meet.

Their eyes didn’t meet as they had to be at the rink, as they skated and passed each other.

Viktor had never done poorly, but by his standards he did that competition, only barely making it to the podium, winning a silver, just a few points over Yuri Plisetsky who became the new champion in his first World Championships.

Yakov had beaten the older skater after each and every program, and Yuuri had wanted to go over to him, to help Viktor with the skate guards, to let the blonde man lean against his body. Just like he had done four years ago.

But he didn’t.

And they never spoke again.


	11. Chapter 11

Regret was a word that Viktor was not familiar with. He always did what he wanted, he never faced any hardships, and he had never looked back with sadness of all of the mistakes he had made. He wasn’t like that, and when he made mistakes, he saw them as lessons to learn from, to get better. He had had his loves, and he had had his heart broken, but he had never regretted it. Of course, he had felt the feeling, when he made a stupid mistake like reading the wrong book for school when in fact he should have read another one, or when he forgot his mother’s birthday one year.

But as soon as Yuuri had turned his back to him, he had started to regret his decision. He wanted to run after him, as if it was a romance novel in one of those magazines that laid in hotel lobbies. Viktor wanted to call out for him, but he couldn’t. He was too scared, terrified of the thought of leaving the regime that was everything to him behind.

It wasn’t until he stood next to Yakov at the airport and the man showed the security _their_ passports, as he thought about the fact that Yakov always kept his passport in _his own_ room, in _his own_ pocket, he realised that he didn’t want to go back to the Soviet Union. Too late. He didn’t want to board the plane, he didn’t want to have to deal with all the pills, his shaking nerves, his hair was beginning to fall out too. He didn’t want to smile at the kids that the taught anymore and he began to wonder why Lenin would be happy that they exercised and played football well? Why he should tell them that the great Lenin would think that?

For a moment, Viktor considered running. Yakov was old and out-of-shape. But what would he do? Yuuri had had a plan, a map, money. Viktor didn’t have anything. So he followed Yakov through the customs, trying his best not to look as he was feeling. As his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, as if his throat wasn’t clogged up so badly it felt as if he couldn’t breathe. His legs felt weak and he couldn’t smile as he usually said. Yakov didn’t seem to notice how the skater felt and instead spoke with Yuri.

Next year, he’d find himself at the world championships, and he’d be alone. Yuuri wouldn’t be smiling to him across the ice, Christophe wouldn’t guide him around to restaurants. He’d be alone. 29 years old and alone.

He had never regretted something so badly. He usually slept on the plane, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even sleep when they got home, and had to ask Yakov for his sleeping aids, which he had not used for some time.

Leningrad usually looked beautiful in March, as spring was beginning to burst through the icy hands of the dying winter. But Viktor didn’t care that much this time. If he wasn’t teaching the kids, which turned more and more into Georgi’s responsibility, or at the ice, he was running. When he wasn’t running he tried to occupy his mind with something else. But never on the beautiful spring that was beginning to bloom around him, slowly but surely. He even tried to flirt with a young skater, and while it worked, he felt even more regret once they had made out with each other.

He tried writing to Yuuri, but he never got a reply, and he figured that he was just annoying him. It was better to try and forget the man, and that was what he did. The more he kept himself busy, the easier it was to forget.

By the summer, he had gotten used to not looking forward to Yuuri’s letters, to not writing them. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, he thought about Yuuri as he ate breakfast, as he was skating, as he read about Japan in the morning paper. There was signs of Yuuri everywhere, and while he could try and forget about him, it was hard.

The skating season began, the nationals, Europeans and Olympics went by. Viktor won his second Olympic gold, and was greeted as a hero as he returned. He was awarded with the highest decoration in the Soviet Union, the “Order of Lenin” in a nice ceremony where people praised him and other skaters, were he sat in a banquet hall and got a nice dinner. He had gotten orders before and he had always been so proud of them, but not this one. This one just hanged heavy on his chest. All he did was skating. Why was he given an order? He wasn’t sure, and the words that Yuuri had told him more than two years ago, that he had been made but the communist regime echoed in his mind through-out the evening.

Georgi had quit skating, so it meant that the three spots in the Worlds and Europeans would go to Viktor, Yuri and Otabek. Viktor could be excited for that, and as they were going to Colorado Springs for Worlds, Viktor was able to tell them all about the city. It meant he had to think of Yuuri as he told them about the great jogging tracks, about the restaurants, the hotel. Otabek listened carefully, it would be the first time Yuri and Otabek was outside of Europe and Viktor was willing to tell them everything about America.

One morning, just a couple of days after Viktor and Yuuri had gotten back from the Olympics in Austria, Viktor woke up in his room by Yakov’s yelling. He had his own room now, since Georgi had married and moved out with his wife. It wasn’t uncommon to hear Yakov yell. Not at Otabek, as the skater mostly did what Yakov wanted him too, but he often yelled at both Viktor and Yuri. But this was different, he wasn’t yelling because he was angry at Yuri eating sweets in the bed, but something more concerning “I should have known better, fucking homos!” Viktor bolted up from his bed, and ran over to the other room. He knew that Otabek and Yuri were together, he heard them even more now when Yuri was old

He saw the two younger, much younger, skaters being beaten with Otabek’s hockey stick. They were both in bed, still naked and had obviously been doing _something_ together.

Yakov was over 70, and while he wasn’t as physically fit as he had once been, and with the wooden stick in his hand, he was clearly hurting them. If Otabek had not shielded Yuri, Viktor assumed that the blonde boy would have tried to get away from the situation, but now he was being held down by the man. “Yakov!” Viktor yelled and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Yakov, stop hitting them!” Viktor grabbed the stick and bent it from his hands. Viktor remembered how he himself had been beaten up, at the same age as Yuuri was in now, how Yakov had made him feel, how he had realised that he should hide better.

“Viktor, they’re homosexuals, _homosexuals!_ I found them… going at it, I am not sure it was they were trying to accomplish, but it was disgusting and completely amoral!” Yakov looked at him and remembered who he was talking to. He moved away from the boys on the bed and shook his head. Yakov only wanted his skaters to do two things, to be good skaters and well-adjusted citizens. He saw them as his children, as he had taken care of them since they were young. Viktor had been the youngest and he had been there for him through thick and thin. That all of his skaters seemed to be so perverted made him wonder what he had done wrong?

Yakov rushed past them. Lilia stood in the hallway, looking at Viktor with a puzzled look. Her husband was often grumpy, but very seldom was he angry. Yakov turned around, and pointed towards Viktor who stood in the door frame. “What is wrong with all of you?” Yakov yelled. “Have I really failed this much in raising you?”

Viktor stood still, knowing that there was no idea to argue with him. Otabek came out in the hallway to apologize. He had his head lowered, and Viktor could see that he would get bruises all over himself. “I’m sorry. Comrade Feltsman, please don’t…”

“Don’t comrade me you chink!” Saliva flew out of his mouth as he yelled at Otabek. Yakov then turned to look at Viktor. “And you!” Viktor raised his arms as if he was asking what he had done. “When are you going to grow up?! You’re soon 30 and you behave like a teenager.” Viktor stood still, not sure what he was supposed to say. Yakov wasn’t going to be calmed by anything that Viktor had to say either way. He could try and pat his shoulder, or hug him, but perhaps that just proved that he was childish. “Do you know what I have had to do for your sake?”

 

* * *

 

Otabek moved in with Viktor, and while he usually didn’t say that much, he was strangely quiet. His back was badly bruised, but otherwise Yakov’s attack hadn’t seemed to affect him. Yuri was silent and completely ignored Yakov, refusing to go to the Komsomol meetings or be in any interviews in preparation for the World Championships. He said nothing during their dinners, which wasn’t uncommon but not even when Viktor made fun of him, the boy said anything. Yakov was also quiet, clearly still upset.

There was only one month between the Olympics and the World Championships, which would be in Colorado Springs. Yakov put them all into hard work, probably as a punishment. That month, Viktor changed his opinion completely, and he grew so much braver. It happened when Yuri uncharacteristically hugged him when they were out on their usual run, and sobbed in his arms. “I hate it here, I hate it.” The young boy leaned towards him. “It’s not because I’m just 19! I don’t want to live here any longer.”

Viktor had never seen Yuri cry. He had never seen him emotional at all and to have the almost ten years younger boy now cry against his shoulder was strange. Viktor patted his back and hoped that he was doing something right. “I’m going to leave. With Otabek at the worlds. I don’t care if he wants to or not, I’m going to take him with me and not give a fuck about this cruel, fucked-up country any longer.”

Viktor had never told anyone about what he had planned with Yuuri, except for Christophe. He knew what a mistake he had made last year when he had not gotten into the taxi with Yuri. Perhaps there was still time to fix it? And perhaps it had been meant that he was to stay, so that he could help the two younger skaters. “I’ll go with you,” he said.

The younger skater pushed away Viktor and wiped away his tears. Yuri looked at him, wanting to say something witty as he was surprised. Viktor had never seemed to do anything else than praise the regime. Yuri had always despised him for that that. The precious Viktor, a Soviet Hero, a man to look up to. He had heard of Viktor before he came to live with Yakov, he had heard how great he was, winning nationals and small skating competitions all around the Soviet Union. He had idolised the man as he grew up, as he became a teenager. Viktor was like his brother. When he had hit puberty he had also gotten “asthma”, just like Otabek and Viktor. He had realised much quicker that he didn’t have asthma at all and he had been so angry at Viktor for doping himself. More so than he was of himself. Viktor was his idol, someone he had looked up to for years and to learn that the man had been using drugs to get better achievements had hurt him.

That was when he had stopped talking to Viktor, but now, with a couple of weeks left before the World Championships in the US, he had to talk to him. He and Otabek had been surprised to hear that Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t coming back to competitive skating and seeing Viktor alone at the Olympics had been odd. So, he figured that he could tell him what he wanted, and he had almost thought that Viktor would try and oppose them, tell Yakov about it. But Viktor didn’t. Viktor took both Otabek and Yuri on separate runs, and they discussed things with each other. Viktor had the same plan as Yuuri had had, and since he had been in Colorado Springs before, he had a pretty good idea of what to do.

In the end, they got help from Leo de la Iglesias, without him they probably had not been able to achieve it. Viktor would always remember that moment when Yuri, a blonde Yuri knocked on his door. It was just like the last time, only that this time he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just him and Yuuri sneaking around, but he had an American, two of his own He wanted to refuse once more but Yuri had looked at him with stern eyes, his brows furrowed. “You’re coming with us whether you like it or not,” he had said. Otabek had looked at Viktor and then shrugged. “I’m not leaving without your stupid ass, you’re not going to win at the worlds after I did.”

So, Viktor had followed with them.

And so Viktor had decided to leave. They did it before the competitions began, and while Yakov and the two intelligence officers that had gone with them yelled at them and tried everything in their might to get them out of the hands from the US government, who had immediately helped them.

Viktor had never felt so lost in his life. He had never felt so free either. At first there was a ton of tests, he spoke to military personnel, to psychologists, he was sure he heard the president’s voice on a line as well. Viktor admitted to using performance drugs and he heard the doctors and an officer talk about whether that would be beneficial to the United States or not at that moment. There was interviews, in magazines, on radio, even on television, he had to talk badly about the country, and for a while he was a bit scared that he’d be murdered after a comment from a police officer about spies.

But nothing happened. Not to him, nor to Yuri and Otabek. His fame didn’t die down during the summer. Viktor felt free. And he realised that he would have felt so much freer so much earlier, if only he had listened to Yuuri.

He tried writing him a letter, but it was returned to him.

If only he had not been so scared.

 

* * *

 

If Viktor had felt regret, all that Yuuri had felt was pain.

As he returned to Hasetsu, he realised that not only the life he had imagined with Viktor had ended, but also all that had ever been his life. He didn’t need to wake up early to run, he didn’t need to go to the ice rink. From having his whole life be about two things, skating and Viktor, he found himself to have nothing. There wasn’t even the comforting rhythm of school to keep him busy.

His friends were all busy with their jobs, and their growing families, and he found himself feeling lonely in the town where he lived. He went back to his mother and father, and while they as always welcomed him with open arms, and his mother fed him, it wasn’t the same. He laid on futon and stared into the ceilings at night, feeling an overwhelming grief.

It was as if he had died.

He even thought that maybe that was for the best. He would walk along the beach, looking towards the horizon as the grey clouds hanged onto the sky. The cold, grey waves rolled into the beach, sometimes making his shoes wet. The seagulls cawed over his head and if he closed his eyes and tied his scarf closer around his neck, he could almost imagine that it was summer.

He never did it though. He had let Viktor, and his love for Viktor, rule his life for four years, and he wouldn’t allow it to go on any further. He was four years older now, and at age 24, he should be able to live his own life.

There was so much more to life than Viktor, he thought and was reminded of that as he went back to his small apartment in Kagoshima, which he had lived in since he graduated from the university in the same city. Living surrounded by students didn’t make him feel better, but Kagoshima was a large town and he soon got a job as a translator and interpreter at an electronics company that dealt with NASA and computer technology. He liked his co-workers too and learning the technical lingo was also a fun new challenge. He was able to save up a lot of money to buy an apartment as the pay he earned was good. Moving meant that Viktor no longer had his address.

Viktor had been sending letters to him. Three of them. They had ceased to come just before the summer and while Yuuri thought that Viktor had given up, decided to move on just like he had, he was scared that he would one day find himself coming home to a familiar letter with Viktor’s handprinted letters on it. He had read the letters that Viktor sent, the first one with it’s apology had made him cry, and he almost wrote back, saying that it was alright, that they could still love each other from a far. But he couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t, no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t do it. The second letter had been a reminder that he should write to Viktor. The last letter, he had not opened for days, but when he had, he had cried.

It would be a relief not to have to worry about them. He kept all of Viktor’s letters, and the photographs of them in a small safe, together with other items that meant a lot to him. He didn’t want to be reminded about Viktor, but he also did not want to get rid of him.

In fact, it was very easy to forget about Viktor. Not in the dead of night, but when he was in his suit, talking with an engineer from the United States as he was translating negotiating deals, it was very easy. He met up with old friends all the time, drinking and eating with them. That was how he met Yumiko’s brother again, and through him, he got in contact with Yumiko.

He remembered how happy she had made him, and he was chasing for that happiness. Anything that could dampen his anxiety, his nightly thoughts of Viktor was rewarded. Anything that could make him feel normal, like a productive member of society. Anything that could make him stop staring at the photographs he still kept in his drawer, of the two of them four years older and still with hope.

Yuuri took her out on dates, he bought her flowers and gifts. He was still nervous and sweet, and Yumiko was still the same funny, kind and determined girl she had been before. It didn’t take long for Yuuri to love the normality he had previously longed for. “Yumiko,” Yuuri said and grabbed her hand as they were out on a walk together. “Marry me.”

“We haven’t spoken for a whole year, Yuuri,” Yumiko said but didn’t move away from him.

And before the end of 1963, Yuuri and Yumiko stood in front of a priest, ceremoniously watching the priest pour sake into three cups. Yuuri was nervous and smiled at Yumiko as he gave her the first cup, his hands ever so slightly shaking. She smiled at him. He knew that he wasn’t honest with her, but he would never be able to love any woman like he loved Viktor.

She had been softer than Viktor had been, when they finally consummated the wedding, and she had smelled a lot sweeter. He told himself that he didn’t _hate_ it as he laid next to her, a couple of days after their wedding. But he honestly didn’t like it. He had never been with a girl before and while he had never thought much about it, he just never figured that he would be able to do it. That he was too depraved, too strange, too disgusting. But he had managed and Yumiko didn’t seem to appalled by him.

Perhaps he was finally becoming normal?

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had avoided watching any skating competitions other than the Japanese Nationals, as he had promised Kenjirou that he would. He had been interviewed, and asked if he was sure that he wouldn’t return to skating. He had just said that he was happy as a married man and that he was sure that Kenjirou would achieve great things at the World Championship and Olympics later that year.

He had not planned on reading about it. Perhaps the scores if they were in the morning paper. But the short program wouldn’t start yet, so on that Wednesday morning, he thought he was safe from any news, any pictures, that could remind him of what had passed. He had lazily gotten out of bed, Yumiko’s toy poodle moving around his legs as he fetched the paper, almost falling over in his slippers. He had picked up the paper, unfolded the front page just like any other morning and read:

** FIGURE SKATING WORLD CHAMPION DEFECTS FROM THE U.S.S.R. **

There was a picture of _him_ , a close-up from the airport. Yuuri knew what airport it was, he had been in it himself after all.

The paper hit the floor again and Yuuri stood still, looking at the door. Did he want to read more? Did he want to know if there were any reasons for Viktor’s sudden change of mind? Did he want to be reminded about him? About his lips, his thighs, his blonde hair. He didn’t. He had managed to forget about him for the past year. From almost thinking about him daily to only be reminded about him from time to time, sometimes weeks passed without him thinking about him. He didn’t want to.

He bent down and picked up the paper again, patting the dog as he did. He didn’t read the paper that morning, and yet he continued to be reminded about it. His co-workers knew that he had been skating of course, and so did his friends. They knew that he had been friends with “ _Nikiforofu_ ”, Yumiko knew, his parents knew, and everyone wanted to ask him about it.

Even the papers tried to get him to comment on it all, and he found himself coming home from work, sinking down into an armchair and just staring at the TV he had just bought. Even if he didn’t care for what it was airing he watched it just to avoid talking to people. Yumiko tried, and while he couldn’t tell her the full truth, he could talk to her a little bit.

Why had Viktor decided to do this now? Now when Yuuri was married, when they couldn’t be together? He knew that Viktor didn’t know that he was married, but surely, he must have understood that Yuuri wasn’t going to wait for him? When Yumiko was asleep, he would sit in the living room, crying into his hands. He still loved Viktor, he really did, but what could he do? He was married, Yumiko was the loveliest wife he could imagine, his mother smiled at him and nagged on him that he should make sure she got to become a grandmother. His life with Viktor was over.

Perhaps it had all just been his young mind, something that he had done at university, a young foolish thing. Perhaps he just missed that freedom. He wasn’t only longing for Viktor, but also battled with himself whether or not he was normal.

One night, when he was crying in the living room, hiding his face in his hands as tears streamed down his face, he heard Yumiko’s footsteps in the hallway. Light and soft. He tried to wipe his tears away before she reached him, but it was still obvious that he had cried. “Yuuri,” she said. “Are you crying?” She didn’t pretend that she had heard Yuuri cry every night for the past week.

“No, I’m just…”

“It’s fine, you’re allowed to cry, I just wish you could tell me what it is.” Yumiko sat down, not next to him, but opposite him in the armchair. Between them was a coffee table that she had picked out together with him. She sat silent, looking at him with worried eyes.

Yuuri didn’t want to face her, not when he was crying over missing his lover. He looked down into his lap, feeling shame build up as her silence felt like an accusation. “I don’t know what it is, it’s hard to explain.”

“Please try,” she said, her voice soft as ever.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Yuuri managed to say some of the truth. “Viktor was a friend, we had made plans together, to be together. He promised he’d…” Yuuri’s voice broke and he began to cry again.

Yumiko sat silent, not sure how she should interpret Yuuri’s words, and for a moment she was closer to the truth than she would ever be, but Yuuri spoke again.

“He betrayed me, Yumiko, I don’t understand why, but it feels like I wasn’t good enough for him, that it was first when I was gone that he felt that he could…” Once more Yuuri’s voice broke down and he began crying, resting his head in his hands.

“Yuuri,” Yumiko said and moved around the table, hugging her husband’s head. She had nothing more to say, nothing to add. She knew how it was to lose friends, to feel abandoned. She was the same age as Yuuri, and she had thought she was never going to get married as she was so old. They were lucky to have each other. Yumiko kissed the dark hair. “We have each other now, Yuuri.”

Yuuri loved Yumiko so much, but he didn’t know if he would ever be able to love her like he loved Viktor. They had sex that night again, only for the third time since they had gotten married and three months later, Yuuri sat in a doctor’s office, just six months away from becoming a father.

He would never love anything else more than the child that he had yet to meet, he realised as he listened to the doctor talk. He listened more attentively than Yumiko did and from that day on, he decided to no let Viktor’s betrayal matter to him.


	12. Chapter 12

** WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS OF FIGURE SKATING 1985 **

“Yuuri?” _His voice sounded the same._ “Yuuri Katsuki?”

Of course, Yuuri had known that the possibility existed. He was after all at the World Championships for figure skating. In Tokyo. The American team had hired him to translate, but once they had realised _who_ he was, he had been asked to come up for an interview. They had said it would be something short, and Yuuri knew that the talented skater Paul Chen would be there, and he knew how much his son looked up to the skater. He knew that Toshio wold rather die than to lose the opportunity to get an autograph from Andrews, even though it was just through his dad.

While Yuuri’s oldest son, Haruki, had never showed any interest for ice skating, or even hockey, Toshio had fallen in love with it when Yumiko brought both boys down to the skating rink one winter. Toshio had just been four, and it had not been the first time he had been on the ice, but this time he was on his own, and Yumiko said that she knew he loved it from the very first moment. Yuuri had not had time to be with them, as he had worked so much back then, but when Toshio said he wanted to start skating, Yuuri had let him.

At first, it had just been for fun, a four-year-old had to learn how to stand on the ice rather than to skate. But as the years passed, it seemed as if Toshio was actually really, really talented as a skater. Yuuri started to come with him to practice, and the girl that taught his son recognized him immediately. “I knew it was in his blood, Toshio-chan is really talented!” The 7-year-old had blushed and banned Yuuri from coming close to the rink as he practiced.

Yuuri himself did not get on the ice more than a couple of times a year, mostly during the winter break. He missed it, but that was part of growing up. Watching his son skate made him nostalgic and he had to admit that he lived through him. They bonded through the sport and the older Toshio became, the more involved Yuuri became in his sport. At age 11, Toshio had gotten a bronze medal at the Japanese Junior Nationals and since then, he had only gotten better. But after that medal ceremony a tv-station had wanted to do an interview with Yuuri, who had blushed and thought that it was a bit too much. Toshio had not blushed but instead stared into the camera and said: “I am going to take a gold medal at the Olympics one day.”

That was when Yuuri realised that Toshio would far exceed him as a skater, because the young boy believed in himself. He was a whole lot like his mother, friendly, open, and positive. He never seemed nervous, and was always optimistic. Paired with Yuuri’s skills, the boy had many good traits.

Yumiko had died when Toshio was eleven. It had so sudden, hit by a car one day. One day she had been there, her warmth and humour stringing the family together, and one day she was not. Toshio was so much like Yumiko, and the little family had grown closer. Haruki took it worse. He was more like Yuuri and the father worried that he would get a phone call from the boy’s high school one day, telling him that he would have lost him.

It stitched them together. Yuuri ended up moving to Saga to get a better paying job, and to leave the house in which Yumiko’s spirit loomed over them. Yuuri tried his best to take care of them, but he was an awful cook and could hardly clean. They often spent their time eating ramen while Maki yapped below them. He realised that he wanted to do everything for them, that his children meant more to him than anything else in the world.

So, Yuuri had said yes to the tv interview. It was just an interview. It had gone well, he had spoken about his skating career, about the American skating legend Leo de la Iglesias, who was apparently around as a coach these days. Mostly he had been interviewed because there was nothing else to do, maybe it wouldn’t even get aired, they told him.

Yuuri got the autograph from Paul Chen, who seemed more than excited to meet him. “You know, it was people like you that shaped the sport, that made it possible for Asians, like myself, to compete in the US.”

Yuuri could only blush. “Talent finds a way.” Paul Chen had not even been born when Yuuri stopped skating.

Yuuri’s last championship had been 22 years ago.

It was 22 years ago, he had seen Viktor Nikiforov.

He had known he could see Viktor. He had thought about it. Toshio told him about him sometimes, as he was the coach to Debbie Andrews, a very talented girl from Detroit who won medals just like Viktor had when he was young. He had known that this could happen, but he had not prepared for it at all.  He had thought that it would be nothing. 22 years. There had been many years since he had missed Viktor. He thought about him still, and he had kept the photographs hidden in his safe. But that was more for his own sake than for Viktor’s.

What should he say? It wasn’t as if they could just pretend that everything had ended well. That they had no history.

Viktor stood in front of him and he looked so old. Ancient. Not at all like someone in his late twenties that dressed as if he was a teenager. Yuuri realised that he must look just as old.

It was Viktor’s voice that had called for him.

They were in a small, deserted corridor as Yuuri had just left the American studio, going down a flight of stairs instead of taking the elevator. The lighting was awful. “Viktor,” Yuuri said. “Are you going to the studio?” A casual question, like they always saw each other.

Viktor looked at him, and Yuuri looked at him, and the older man’s face burst into a smile. “Yuuri!” he said and moved his hand over his mouth as if he was in shock. “You look just the same! After all these years!” Viktor had a very strange accent, it was still Russian, but with a heavy, heavy American touch to it.

Yuuri stood still. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say either, and Yuuri took a step forward and hugged Viktor tightly. He didn’t care. He did what he wished he had done 22 years ago in Dortmund. And for a moment, it felt like that was where they were. As if the last two decades had not happened.

Viktor hugged him.

They hugged each other, and Yuuri rested his head against his shoulder. Where did one go from there? 22 years but it felt like no time had passed at all. Viktor was the first one to move, but not too far away from him. They both realised that hugging wouldn’t be happening again. It had been a spur of the moment, but now both of them were too uncomfortable to do it again. But at that moment, it had been the only thing to do.

Yuuri was chubbier now than he had been before, and the round glasses framed his face better than the heavy frames he had worn in the 60’s. He wore the same strict attire, comfortable but always proper. Viktor’s hair wasn’t ash blonde any more, but a beautiful silver colour. He looked as fit as he had before, but his face showed how old he was. There was also the obvious comb-over, but otherwise Viktor had aged with grace. “What are you doing here?” Viktor asked.

“I was interviewed…” Yuuri stopped himself, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He didn’t want to start crying, he didn’t cry as easily any longer and he wasn’t going to let Viktor make him cry again. Viktor had already made him cry so many times. “I’m a translator,” he said, changing his mind. “And I was interviewed and…” Viktor grabbed his hand, holding it in his own.

They didn’t really have anything to talk about. They both knew that they had not spoken for so long, that a whole lifetime had passed between then and now. Yuuri had heard about him, of course he had, but he had not thought about him that much.

Still, Viktor wasn’t going to let him go now.

“I want to take you out for dinner!” Viktor said, smiling happily. His eyes were glistening. Viktor dressed differently too, he wasn’t wearing the casual clothes that Yuuri had been used to seeing him in, the clothes that the Soviet Union had provided for him, that they had wanted him to wear. Now he wore a nice suit, that fitted him beautifully, and over that a thick, wool coat. Yuuri was wearing a suit as well, but Viktor looked gorgeous in his.

Yuuri looked at him. He wanted to go out to eat with him, but should he? Well, perhaps it would be fun to relive old memories. And Yuuri realised that he still had feelings for Viktor. Perhaps only those kinds of feelings one had for people that were once your lover but you had never had an ending with. Yuuri had never been with someone else. Once, at an office party, he had made out with the new guy in a broom closet, but that had been it. It had been shortly after Yumiko passed away, and grief paired with alcohol had clouded his judgement. It was part of why he had moved to Saga.

If he had had more time, maybe he would have decided to get a lover. To not feel so alone. But his children came first, then his wife, and now Viktor was standing in front of him, and what he had dreamt of felt so far away. It felt all right, and a dinner really could do no harm. And he really wanted to know what Viktor had been up to, and he was sure Toshio would adore an autograph from Debbie Andrews. “I’d love to, Viktor,” he said.

“Do you live here?” Viktor asked and began to rummage through his pockets.

“In Tokyo?” Yuuri asked. “No, not by far, but translator and know ice skating terms?” Yuuri smiled and Viktor chuckled before handing him piece of paper. Yuuri recognized those letters from anywhere. On it was the address of the place they were in and a time, written in Viktor’s handwriting. Viktor pointed towards the header and the printed address. “That’s your hotel?”

“Yes, exactly, they have a restaurant there…”

Yuuri interrupted him. He did not want to eat dinner at Viktor’s hotel, because it would be more intimate. It would be like it used to. “I know a great restaurant, they make my favourite dish.” Yuuri looked back up into the blue eyes. They looked the same, even though there had been years since he last saw them. “What are you doing tonight? I think we’ll be able to get a table.” It was just an ordinary Thursday.

Viktor thought for a moment but then agreed. Viktor was still in shock of finding Yuuri there. Living, breathing, looking a bit older but not less pretty. He had not thought of the possibility of meeting Yuuri, he had been in Japan before, for the 1972 winter Olympics in Sapporo, and then, he had joked with Chris that maybe he’d run into him. It had hurt back then and this time he just assumed he wouldn’t. If Yuuri weren’t at the Olympics 13 years ago, it was unlikely that he would see him here. And yet he did. “Debbie don’t need me that much any longer, she prefers being on her own.”

“I’ll see you at the hotel then.” The words felt so familiar, and yet he had not said them for years. “At 8?”

“Sounds fine to me, now I have to hurry, don’t want to be late.” They weren’t sure how to say goodbye to each other, and it ended with Yuuri saying bye and leaving, going back to his work.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri was staying at a hotel as well and it felt strange walking to Viktor’s hotel, like he had done before. Viktor was waiting in the lobby, in new clothes and even a new coat. It really felt like no time had passed. Viktor saw him first, and was the most excited of the two. Yuuri didn’t know why, but there was something that made things feel a bit strange. He didn’t know how to act around Viktor, even though he felt at ease.

Maybe he just didn’t want to feel that at ease.

“Are you ready?” Yuuri asked and Viktor agreed.

“What place is this then? I have had a bit of sushi, but never really anything authentic?”

Yuuri smiled at him as they walked out from the hotel lobby. “They make katsudon, the reason I look like this,” he laughed. “You’ll like it, it’s simple enough, and not far away from here.” Yuuri had eaten there yesterday and it was just a short walk from Viktor’s hotel.

To pass the time, Yuuri asked Viktor about his skater, Debbie Andrews, and was told that Viktor expected her to do well, but that she was most likely looking to change coaches to someone on the East Coast. “I live in California,” Viktor replied when Yuuri asked.

“Oh, how come?” They were already at the restaurant, hanging up their coats and being seated.

Viktor nodded. “When I defected, I got an apartment in Denver. After the interview process, which was gruelling!” Viktor laughed and told him about his first meeting with the United States intelligence service and how surprised he had been that someone could have thought that he was a spy. “I was employed by an ice show, which was an adventure in itself. I travelled around for a few years, skating to silly things and just having fun.” They were given a nice, private table and Yuuri asked Viktor if he should order for him. “Yes, please,” Viktor said. “It was… in 1967 I think, that Chris…”

“Chris?” Yuuri asked. “You mean our Christophe?”

“Christophe, sorry, he started calling himself Chris in the States.” Yuuri chuckled, it sounded like something that Christophe would do. “In ’67 or ’68, Chris contacted me, saying he was moving to California, and he asked if I wanted to come live with him. He had gotten place at a skating club.”

“Bet it wasn’t hard for you to get a job there either?” Yuuri asked. He ordered for them, two katsudon. He recalled how he had told… Leo and Christophe about it at that diner they had been to.

Viktor’s eyes sparkled and he laughed. “None at all, they begged me.” Yuuri chuckled. He could imagine. Even him had been asked to become a coach to several people, and he had not won two Olympic gold medals and several world championships. “I’ve been there for 15 years now, and I adore it. Me and Chris got a house together, and a dog, a poodle, who he spoiled rotten.”

“How is Chris then?” Yuuri was glad that Viktor and Christophe had found happiness with each other. If he had met Viktor earlier on he would have felt betrayed by him, like he had cheated on him. But now, all he felt was regret that he had not been able to spend all those years with Viktor. But then, he wouldn’t have his kids, so in the end, things were fine. “California must suit him!”

Viktor suddenly turned silent. His dark eyes fixed at Viktor as he understood what would come. “He passed away three years ago.” It was still shocking to hear.

“How?” Yuuri asked, but Viktor was already going to tell him.

They were given their drinks, which interrupted Viktor, who spoke again. “It was cancer,” he said, and Yuuri felt his own memories being stirred to life. “Now, with all the facts, I doubt it was cancer.”

Yuuri knew what he meant. He was talking about that new virus, some said it was a punishment from god, the gay cancer. Acquired immune deficiency syndrome. _AIDS_. Yuuri nodded slowly, and leaned back a bit. He didn’t know much about the syndrome, and hoped he never had to, but he knew that it caused homosexuals to die, in cancer, in pneumonia. Their immune system couldn’t defend them any longer. “I’m so sorry to hear, Viktor.”

“He slept around, so he had it coming,” Viktor laughed. “He said that he was happy that he was going to die from having too much sex.” Yuuri felt his face getting red from Viktor’s words, but it was something that Christophe could say. “In the end, he was so frail, not at all like he was in his youth.” They got their food, but Yuuri told Viktor to continue talking. “I mean, he was getting older too, but he used to be only muscles and a cute face. But when he laid in that hospital bed, you would have thought he was born a cripple.” Viktor sighed.

Yuuri reached over the table and patted Viktor’s shoulder. “He lived a fulfilled life.”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, I was at the hospital every day.” He sighed, taking up the chopsticks. “I guess that’s how we are all going to end up. But he was just 45.” The Russian cleared his throat and smiled at Yuuri. “Enough about those things, let’s try this food!”

Viktor’s use of chopsticks was laughable, and Yuuri had to lean over to help him place them in his hand. It was fun though, and when Viktor started to eat, he looked as if he had tasted the best dish in the world. Which was true in Yuuri’s mind. He ate it far too often. They talked a bit about the food but then Viktor asked: “What about you! You said you were a translator, I want to know more.”

Yuuri nodded, but then looked at Viktor. He had never told him about Yumiko at that hotel room. He had never told him that he had had plans of marrying a girl. Viktor didn’t know that and what would come next wasn’t going to be easy for any of them. “I have two sons, and a wife. She passed away… three years ago as well.” Yuuri didn’t feel like telling Viktor how and the man seemed to respect that.

“When did you get married?” The question was obvious. Viktor wanted to know when Yuuri had gotten over him.

“December 1964.” Yuuri looked up into the blue eyes.

Viktor nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “I didn’t expect that.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.” Yuuri knew he was being bitter, and it wasn’t healthy. He had tried to push the feelings of not being wanted away for years, but it was hard to not gloat in the fact that he had been doing well, that he had managed.

“Were you happy together?”

Yuuri nodded and felt how the tears wanted to start stream down his face. “I was very happy. I hope she was happy too. I love her still.” He really did love her, and he missed her every day.

Viktor let Yuuri be, because he didn’t know what else to say. After a while, he smiled at him. “You said you had sons?” It was odd to say, he had never thought that Yuuri would be married. Viktor wasn’t exactly out, but Chris had dragged him along on the Gay Liberation Marches, or Pride Parade as they were now called, in San Francisco, and while he wouldn’t hide it, it wasn’t as if he was open with it. But that Yuuri had gotten married, lived his life in a lie, it was hard to grasp. Had he ever been happy? Viktor couldn’t imagine it.

If Viktor had said what he was thinking, Yuuri would have gotten angry with him. He was happy, and he loved his family and what he had. It wasn’t perfect, Yumiko had not been the true love of his life, but he had been happy.

“I have two sons,” Yuuri said with a bright smile. “Haruki, he’s busy applying for universities at the moment.” He was so proud of Haruki, even though he didn’t spend as much time with him as he did with Toshio. But Yuuri had a lot more in common with Haruki, and they could talk about other things than skating. Haruki wanted to become a scientist from an early age, and he was good at studying. A bit anxious and shy, which Yuuri could identify with but had no idea how he would help him with. “And Toshio, he skates.”

“Really?” Viktor said. “Is he any good?” The man was still struggling with his chopsticks and Yuuri wondered if he should ask the waiter to get a fork for him.

“He got a silver at the Juniors this year, so I think he could do well. He’s just 13.”

Viktor nodded. “That’s impressive,” he said with a smile on his lips. “Maybe he’ll become an international star one day?” Viktor mused.

They continued to talk, about much lighter things. It felt like they had cleared the air, about sports, about the food, Tokyo and all other things. Viktor said that he should have gone there sooner, and Yuuri tried not to be too sad about it when he thought that he wished the same thing. They didn’t dwell on anything to personal the whole evening. Viktor eventually understood how to use the chopsticks and maybe they drank a little bit too much.

It was time to leave. Yuuri paid for them, even though Viktor insisted that he should pay, and they went back out on the street. “It’s like New York, but also not at the same time,” Viktor said as he looked up at the sky scrapers. There was a moment of silence before Viktor spoke again. “I want you to know that I am sorry. That I regretted it.”

Yuuri was also silent for a while. He had wanted to hear those words for so long. For 22 years. He sighed. “Things would have been different then.”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “I’m glad I met you again.” They were almost by the hotel, the revolving doors beginning to spin as they walked towards them. The lobby was filled with bright lights, and didn’t look like a cosy hotel in an old European house. It was modern.

“I’m glad as well.”

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Viktor asked. He thought that they could get a drink, and talk about those things that one couldn’t talk about in a restaurant. Perhaps he hoped that it would lead to somewhere else as well, but that wasn’t why he invited Yuuri too his room. He had missed him, and now when he spent time together with him, he remembered that he enjoyed talking to him, how fun they had together.

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t think that would be smart, Viktor.” They would end up having casual sex, talk a bit more, and Yuuri would feel guilty again. He just knew it. They would meet for a couple of more nights, and then Viktor would go back to the US. It had been nice to talk to him, and Yuuri wouldn’t mind having dinner with him again, but he didn’t want to get involved with Viktor again. He didn’t want to feel guilt or shame that would come to sleeping with him. He didn’t want to sleep with him either, and didn’t want to led Viktor to think that he wanted to.

Viktor nodded slowly. “Well, would you like to go out and eat with me again? What about Saturday?”

“Toshio is coming down, we’re going to watch the free skate together.” Toshio had begged him to be allowed to go watch it. Toshio’s coach said that it would be a good experience as well, so Yuuri had agreed that he could come up on Saturday morning, when he didn’t have school.

Viktor nodded. “He could come a long, I’m not going to talk about something inappropriate. I could ask Debbie if she wants to come too.” Debbie would do her free skate on Friday, and Viktor thought that she would love to go. Yuuri wasn’t sure that he should, but he really wanted to continue to talk to Viktor. They had had so much fun together.

“It sounds fine, here’s the number to my hotel.” Yuuri scribbled it down on a paper in the lobby, and Viktor promised to call.

22 years had passed, and yet it really felt like it had been yesterday.


	13. Chapter 13

“You know VIKTOR NIKIFOROV?!” Toshio’s voice was loud. If they had not been at the hotel, Yuuri would have asked him to calm down, but he let Toshio be. The boy had been excited the whole day, watching the male free skate, rooting for some Italian with far too long hair in Yuuri’s mind, but he guessed he could see the appeal of the skater that was just two or three older than his son. But apparently, he was doing well. Now, he was excited about what Yuuri had just told him

Yuuri wasn’t too interested in other skaters that weren’t Japanese. Toshio had been in a few international competitions, and placed well for his age. But juniors seldom got noticed unless they truly shined. “I have told you that I knew Nikiforov?” Yuuri had of course told his kids about his own international skating career, about that summer in Leningrad, but he had treated Viktor like an acquaintance at most. Which Viktor had been in his memory when Toshio had started to ask about his father’s life.

He had told Toshio about the dinner that they would be having together with Viktor and the female gold medallist. He had not said something during the day, but once they had gotten back to the hotel room, he had told him about the plans for the evening.

“You didn’t tell me that you knew him that well!” Toshio jumped down into the bed. He was wearing his school uniform, wanting to look proper for the big event. He had met some of his friends at the competition, waved at them and cheered for the Japanese skaters that he knew from before as well. But he had cheered the loudest for the Italian.

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s just a dinner.”

The boy nodded. “I saw him in Colorado Springs at the Junior Worlds.” They had been in December, and Yuuri had not been able to go with him, instead his coach had been there. He had finished on a 6th position, making Yuuri proud as the boy called home to him, telling him all about the competition. “He doesn’t have any Junior skaters, he was just there watching. Someone said that he was scouting.” Toshio laid down in the bed. “I would kill to have him as my coach.”

Even though Yuuri knew that such a thing would never happen, he felt nervous. As if he was going to break out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t imagine anything worse. Not because he disliked Viktor, he had seemed nice enough when they had spoken to each other yesterday, but he didn’t feel like having his son training under him. He understood that Toshio didn’t see what he saw, and Viktor was most likely a great coach as he had several medallists under his belt. Either way, the boy was just talking, Toshio always talked a lot. “He has a skater, Toshio.”

“Yeah, but she’s leaving, she doesn’t like California, she says it’s to humid or something. Or too dry, I can’t quite remember which one it is.” Yuuri shook his head. It was good that his son was dreaming, but those kinds of dreams were quite a bit unrealistic. He told him that too, but the boy scoffed at his father. “You should try and find another coach if you don’t like Yuki,” Yuuri said and got up from the chair

Toshio ignored him and instead started talking about the competition they had watched. “I knew Cialdini would win, his jumps are so high!” the boy said as they were getting ready to leave. “If I just could get my spins right…” Yuuri was glad that the boy had stopped talking about Viktor, even though that changed when they were heading towards the restaurant. This time, Yuuri had agreed on meeting at Viktor’s hotel, mostly for the sake of Debbie, he didn’t want to have the young skater hauled around Tokyo just because he had a preference. She had done well that Friday, finished second in her free skate but with enough points to win.

Yuuri thought that it would have been obvious that Viktor would coach someone to victory.

The hotel restaurant was nice, and filled as it was a Saturday night. Most skaters from the America’s lived in that hotel, and Toshio greeted someone that he apparently knew. Yuuri had not been to any competitions other than the ones Toshio was competing in, and only on national levels, but when he stepped into the room, he remembered how wonderful the atmosphere was. A restaurant filled with athletes who had just completed a world championship, something that they had probably longed for the past 10 years. They had all finished their competitions, and the only thing left was the exhibition and the medal ceremony tomorrow. If there had been any competition, any rivalry between the skaters, that was now gone. Even the most vicious enemies would at least try and not argue after a competition like this. It was very special and Yuuri remembered that, his body relaxing into the comfortable feeling.

He also remembered how it felt meeting Viktor after having dinner in a room like this, how he would sit in restaurants, eyeing him across the room if they happened to stay at the same hotel, and how they would silently promise each other to meet later that evening. Just looks and smiles, not too often for anyone to see. But he knew that he had not felt excited just because of Viktor, but because there was something special about these events. Viktor had already reserved a table, because he and Debbie was waiting for them.

Debbie was blonde, short and she suited Viktor’s personality completely. “Debbie!” she said with a bright smile on her face when she introduced herself, and Yuuri saw how Toshio almost melted down into the floor. Her hair was poofy and held back with a headband, and she wore a bright pink, silky shirt together with a black skirt. Toshio smiled at her and for a moment lost his confidence, which wasn’t uncommon. He was soon back at it though, and made a joke. Viktor laughed at them and what followed was introductions, small talk about the restaurant and finally getting seated again. Viktor threw long looks at Yuuri who mostly concentrated on Toshio or Debbie, who talked to each other about the competition. Yuuri had made sure that his kids learnt how to speak English from an early age. Haruki had not been too keen on learning it, but Toshio had nagged at Yuuri from the age of five to teach him, pointing at things and asking what they were called.

“I live with Viktor,” Debbie said when Toshio asked. “He and Chris have, had, a house. It’s quite beautiful, a bit isolated though.”

Viktor smiled. “Chris called it a retreat, I’m not so sure about it, it means you have to drive absolutely everywhere. Not that I mind that, nore does Debbie.” Debbie chuckled. “Don’t let her drive, she’ll kill me one day I’m sure.”

“I like speed.”

“You should have been a speed skater then,” Viktor complained. “You should come visit some time,” Viktor said. “It’s big, I got plenty of space.”

Yuuri smiled kindly at the man and Toshio laughed. If Yuuri had been younger, he would have worried if Viktor’s words could have been misinterpreted, but he knew better these days. What people didn’t look for, they never saw. “That would be cool,” Toshio said. “I didn’t know you and dad knew each other that well?”

“No?” Viktor said and looked at Yuuri. It wasn’t that surprising, he ahd not expected Yuuri to tell his kids that he and him had fucked at competitions for five years and then just left each other without a single word. But he had thought, since he learnt that Yuuri had children, that he had figured ain stories, being an old friends or something like that. “We were great friends back in the day.” Yuuri looked at Viktor, telling him with a look that he didn’t want him to say anything else. “Your dad was an amazing skater, better at figures than I ever was.”

Toshio chuckled. “All he talks about is figures.”

“I heard they might remove them until the Olympics,” Debbie chimed in. Toshio nodded enthusiastically. “I hate them too,” she said.

Viktor sighed loudly. “You can hate them all you want, it’s called figure skating. Right, Yuuri?” He nodded. “When I was with the Ice Capades we didn’t do figures at all, and I felt that my skating wasn’t as good.”

“Ice Capades looks so much fun. And the Holiday on Ice too, did you use to do that stuff?” Toshio asked. They had already ordered, the restaurant having mostly western food. Yuuri felt out of place, and tried his best to not stare at Viktor. Yuuri had felt a bit anxious about it, but it was actually going well. Viktor was entertaining, the conversation was going well, and the man didn’t do anything. It felt very natural, as if they were truly old friends having dinner together.

The Russian nodded and smiled at the old memories. He had loved it. “Professional skating is really fun,” Viktor said. “I travelled all over the United States, and all those stories that you try to portray on the ice, that you play up in your head, finally comes to life. We did Sleeping Beauty a lot, and I have to be honest, I was flattered by all the accolades I got.” Viktor had loved the fame he had received in the US after his defection. It had helped him feeling less lonely, and more like he actually belonged in the States. He had worried about not being able to compete, not being able to skate and even if he didn’t want to admit it, he had worried about not being important any longer.

It had really helped him getting into society, to learn things. He had just been doing it for a few years, but he still talked to the friends he had made way back then. The friends that taught him how to do grocery shopping, the importance of bank accounts and how to write a check. Things he had no idea how to do, but slowly learnt.

He remembered how Chris had teased him about his driving skills when they had finally met up again, after years apart from one another. Chris was a much better driver than him and Viktor and him had been going on long road trips, just driving together. Viktor had never felt so free. In the Soviet Union, he had not been allowed to go outside of Leningrad without a special permit. He and Chris could drive to Las Vegas if they wanted to.

He had liked that. The world was so much more than skating, than Komsomol’s and Pravda magazines. The world was huge and filled with so many things, both good and bad. It had been hard to learn how to live in the real world, the world that had so much to offer.

He could have had it worse, and while he saw real poverty for the first time in California, as he had been shielded from it in Leningrad and did not remember it from his youth, he knew that he was better off there than in his home country. It was hard and difficult some times, but more often than not, he just enjoyed his time. His life with Chris had not always been great, they had never really defined what they were, if they were partners or not, or if it was okay to have sex with others. They had argued a bit, slept around, at one point had Viktor moved out and Chris had called him at their friends house telling him that he was being silly. They had bought a dog, a poodle. They had bought the skating club themselves after a few years, and when they started to get more skaters, really good skaters, it just felt right to have them live at their home. That became their little family.

Debbie had lived with him and Chris, before Chris had turned ill. Viktor liked her, they were more than just a coach and a student to each other, perhaps because she had been around when Chris died.

The little skating family had always been great. Viktor had liked kids, and probably would have liked some himself if his life had been different, and to take care of teenagers in the same situation as he had once been in, doubting their potential, worrying about what life would make of them, about girls and boys and love and skating. Viktor liked it, and hated leaving them behind for competitions like this.

Toshio was just the kind of skater that he would love having in his club. But he knew that it would just make him think about Yuuri more. If that was a bad thing.

Viktor had thought about him, of course he had. 22 years might have passed but he still thought of Yuuri. Not every day, not even every other week sometimes, but when he thought back on his life, of his achievements, his friends, the hardships and how well he had actually done, the memory of Yuuri was the one that warmed his soul he most. The memory of that snowy alley in Dortmund was also the only thing that Viktor still regretted, that he still hated. How couldn’t he?

He often thought about how his life would be if Yuuri was in it. He honestly loved him still, not in the same way of course, he wasn’t madly in love with him, his heart didn’t pound in his chest at the idea of seeing him. But he smiled when the man spoke, he enjoyed listening to his soft words, to look at his face. He had been so shocked when he saw him, so much older than he had imagined him. He wasn’t a twenty-four-year-old man any more. Viktor had laughed at himself for thinking that. How old didn’t he look himself?

Time changed people, but memories kept them undamaged. He knew that his and Yuuri’s relationship had not been the best, that they had not been able to fully communicate with each other, that it had been short, perhaps mostly focused on sex, on lust, but he had loved it. And while he couldn’t say that he wanted it again, because why would he want to start sneaking around with Yuuri, hiding his love from the world, he wanted to be his friend again.

They shared so much history, they had created so many memories together, and it seemed shameful to just throw them away. Of course, Viktor had others to talk to. Like Emil Nekola, but he lived in Italy these days, coaching a pair skating couple. There was Otabek and Yuri of course, who still lived together in New York city. They had had an off and on again relationship until the mid 70’s, when they had settled down together once and for all. Yuri had a ballet school, and Otabek apparently worked with music. They seemed happy together but Viktor had not been able to see them since Chris’ funeral. It had just been to painful. He got Christmas-cards though, a tradition that he had adopted and loved to do, but he suspected that Otabek convinced Yuri to send one back to him.

Yuuri understood him though. Yuuri understood him like Chris would have understood him. They had been hidden from the world, hiding their feelings for each other, themselves, and everyone. Yuuri was the only one who understood the pain of their own love story. Viktor wanted to spend a night, drunk on wine, laying under a starry sky by the pool at his home and talk about old memories with the man.

Yuuri’s son was a skater too so that meant that he would understand the change the sport had gone through. Viktor loved how everyone was skating to modern music, Debbie was skating to a soundtrack from some movie about a stripper. It was so different, the world was changing, opening up. And he wanted someone to talk to about it.

Viktor told them a few stories about his time at the Ice Capades, stories that Debbie had heard a million times before. Yuuri’s son looked at him with big eyes, lamenting how he also wanted to become a professional, win the Olympics and World titles. He was so different from Yuuri, he was filled with confidence. Viktor wondered what it came from, but it intrigued him. Viktor looked at the young boy. “What are you doing this summer? Any camps?”

“No, I usually just run and do ballet during the summer.”

“What if I coached you over the summer. Debbie, you’re leaving for that other guy in May right?”

Debbie laughed. “Wish it was sooner so I didn’t need to hang around you.” Viktor clicked his tongue but laughed himself.

“Coach me?!” Toshio said. “Wow, really? I’d love that, I’d really, really love that Mr. Nikiforov!”

Viktor glanced over at Yuuri. The Japanese man wasn’t sure what he wanted. One part of him desperately wanted to keep in touch with the man, he wanted to get to know Viktor again, to be with him. He was still attractive and even though he knew that the thoughts he was having were wrong, he couldn’t help himself. He was enjoying Viktor’s company, not in a bad way, but as a friend. But with their history, he wondered if it was smart. “I guess that would be all right.” Yuuri couldn’t let Yoshio not have this opportunity because he worried about his past.

Viktor was surprised at how easily Yuuri relented, which he showed in a short smile. Yuuri shook his head as if he was saying that he didn’t really have any choice, did he? “How much do you practice each day?” Viktor asked the boy.

“On ice?” Toshio asked. “Two hours, 80 minutes doing figures,” Toshio hated figures with a passion. They were dull. He liked jumping more than anything. “And 40 minutes for free skate.”

Viktor nodded. “Reasonable.” Viktor looked back at Yuuri. “So, what do you say? I wouldn’t charge, for old times sake.”

Toshio probably couldn’t believe it. Camp costs could become extremely expensive, especially if one trained under people like Viktor Nikiforov, who could take whatever price he wanted and people would still flock around him. Yuuri almost wondered if it was see-through

He knew exactly what Viktor was doing, and part of him wanted to say no, but the other one thought about Toshio, he had seemed so excited about the idea. “Dad, please let me go, please.”

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Toshio beamed up and the rest of the evening was spent talking about that. Debbie and Toshio slipped away after the dinner, Debbie said she was going to introduce him to some of the other skaters and Yuuri couldn’t hold him back from that. “I let him skip school for this,” Yuuri laughed.

Viktor leaned back on his chair. “Looks like it was worth it, he seems really confident in himself, I like that.” Viktor looked towards the table where the Italian gold medallist sat. He had long, brown hair pulled up in a headband and seemed eager to talk to a younger fan and skater. “Do you think he could become really good?”

“Probably,” Yuuri said.

“Better than you were?” Yuuri looked back at Viktor and smiled softly at him before he nodded. “I don’t want you to feel that I have some sort of ulterior motive with this. He’s a good kid, and I do take in kids sometimes to see if we fit, and if we do, I wouldn’t mind coaching him.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he believed it but he smiled at Viktor. “He won’t stop talking about it until he’s on the plane, I know that.” Yuuri glanced over at him, they had sat down and Toshio spoke the most already. Hopefully he wasn’t saying that he would beat the crap out the Italian once he advanced into the senior division, although it was the kind of thing he could imagine his son saying. “Viktor, I… I don’t know how I feel about you.”

Viktor nodded. “I get that,” he said. “I just hope that we’ll find a time to talk with each other. We’re adults now.”

“We were in our twenties, Viktor.”

Viktor nodded with a stupid grin on his face. “You might have been, I was still acting like I was forever going to be 19 years old. Being with you mad me understand that some things need to be treated with more seriousness.”

Yuuri smiled. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start writing to each other. I do want to know about you, where you have been, what you have done. I don’t want to find you in 2007 and see you as an old man.”

“Even older man,” Viktor teased him.

“I still have those old pictures, you know.” Yuuri spoke to Viktor but didn’t look at him. “I haven’t looked at them for years, but I know where they are. I don’t wish that things had gone differently, and I’m happy as thing turned out, but I can’t help but to wonder what would have happened if you had followed me that night.”

Viktor sat silent for a short moment. “You wouldn’t have your children, you would have lived in California and Chris still would have died.”

Yuuri nodded. Would Yumiko had died too? Would she had found a man that truly loved her, the kind of man that he deserved? “I guess.”

“Dad! Come here!” Toshio waved his arm.

Yuuri sighed but got up. “Come on, let’s go see what he wants,” Yuuri smiled at Viktor.

Viktor nodded, grabbed his glass of wine that he had been drinking and got up from the chair. He hoped that him and Yuuri would be able to find each other again, that their friendships would blossom and that neither of them would be so lonely any more.

 

* * *

 

“I love it here, dad! It’s warm, so even if we’re on the ice, we don’t wear jackets or anything, it’s too hot.”

Yuuri smiled. It was lunchtime, the middle of July and it felt like the whole office was at a standstill from the heatwave that had struck them. “I’m glad to hear that you are doing well.”

“He says that he wants to coach me.” Toshio’s voice was so excited, Yuuri could hear him trying to sit still.

“Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to move?” Yuuri asked. He knew that Toshio would move away from him sooner or later if he wanted to further his skating, but he had not thought that it would be so soon. No, he had hoped that it would take a few years at least.

“I think Viktor would like to move away? He talks about Chris a lot, and I think he is a bit lonely here?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, so he stayed silent. “Either way, dad, he thinks I can make quadruple jumps! We’re going to start practicing that tomorrow.”

“Quadruple? What do you mean?”

He could hear Toshio sigh. “Quad. You rotate four times, dad. No one has done it in competition before, but I will be the first!”

“It sounds dangerous,” Yuuri tried to say but the young boy wasn’t going to listen to him.

“No, not at all! Love you, I have to go, Rich wants to call his mum!” Toshio hanged up on him and Yuuri was left on his own.

If Toshio could have a good coach, a coach as good as Viktor, who hopefully didn’t use any techniques that he himself had been taught. But did have to be Viktor?

They had written to each other through the spring, and Yuuri found himself being far too willing to talk to Viktor. He enjoyed reading his letters and he enjoyed talking to him. It felt like he had someone that he could be truly honest with.

And after so many years on his own, he enjoyed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! :) I think I have told some people that I try to update twice a week so to not disappoint anyone I wanted to say that I won’t be updating on Saturday. So, it’ll be a week until the next chapter comes up, because I’m going away on a trip and won’t have the ability to upload!
> 
> I also won't be able to reply to comments until I get home! :)


	14. Chapter 14

Toshio didn’t look anything like Yuuri. He had the same black hair and the small, petite structure, but his face was nothing like Yuuri’s. His eyes had the same colour, but they weren’t his.

Viktor had felt relieved over that. He had not really thought things through at the restaurant, and acted a bit in a haste. He often did that, he decided for something, and didn’t think it through that much before. Afterwards, he could reflect though, and as he had picked up Toshio at the airport, he realised that perhaps it was strange. But he wasn’t coaching Toshio just because of Yuuri, the boy was talented.

His skating style was nothing like Yuuri’s either. Or maybe that was a lie, it was just as graceful as his, and he had great stamina and did well in the second half of the program, but he was much braver. He moved around on the ice with comfort and ease, as if he owned the ice, as if he knew that he was good. It reminded Viktor of himself, or Chris, that laissez-fair attitude. When Toshio fell, he bounced back up and would not doubt himself in the next jump. Even if he knew that he would fall in a jump before jumping, he did all of his rotations. He was confident.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asked when Toshio hit the ice one more time that evening. He was practicing his toe loop quad. He had yet to achieve one, but he was probably going too.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Toshio said. Viktor waved him over. They were alone at the rink, having some one on one time together. Richard, a boy from Canada, was watching from the sides as he was reading through a magazine, but this was Toshio’s time to skate under Viktor’s watchful eye.

Viktor looked at him. Yuuri and him had been writing to each other. Not a lot, but a little bit from time to time, a couple of times a month. At first it had just been about Toshio, but they had started to talk about how they felt. Not the past, not what had once happened, but just how they felt. Yuuri had told him how much he missed his wife, Viktor had written about his fears about being ill himself, that he should go and take that test. Yuuri had written about how he still felt ashamed. Viktor had written about how he missed his home country. The past wasn’t treated as something toxic, but it didn’t come up naturally and Viktor wasn’t sure that he wanted to talk about it either. “Toshio, you need more speed.”

“I know, I know, Viktor.” He reached for the water bottle.

Viktor shook his head. “My old coach used to tell me that you know before a jump if you’re going to make it or not. You know how to jump right?”

Toshio nodded. “Yeah.”

“You know how to rotate, and you know how to land. You just got to do all those things together.” Toshio nodded again, emptying the water bottle. “You got something on your mind, tell me about it.”

Toshio looked up at Viktor. He was just 14 years old, and didn’t know that much about the world. While he had pretended that it wasn’t a big deal to travel to California for a summer camp, it was. His dad had fussed over him, and he had let him as he knew his dad became calmer if he got to worry a bit, make sure that Toshio had packed everything that he had to. At the camp, which was much less a camp than any other place he had ever been to, he had lived with Viktor, two boys and two girls.

One of those girls were Vanessa, who was his age down to the same month of birth. They had fooled around a little bit, touched each other a little bit, sneaking away together and made out in the woods when they thought no one knew. (Of course, Viktor knew but let them be even though they were kids.) It was keeping his mind occupied for sure. “I am just thinking about something else.”

Viktor glanced at him and smiled. “About something or someone else?”

Toshio looked up at Viktor. He had so much respect for the coach. He had heard very little about him from his dad, other than that they had once been at a summer camp together, and that they’d been in competitions at the same time. Viktor had been so much better than his dad though, he had won Olympic gold, he had won several world championship titles. He was probably one of the best skaters of his generation. Sure, now he didn’t look it, he looked like any old man, but Toshio knew that he had been so good. The had been the greatest. “Just a girl.”

“Girls are fine to think of, you just got to think about that you want to impress them, not of what they’ll think of you when you mess up.”

“Did you think of girls?” Toshio asked and moved his feet a little bit, sliding backwards and forwards on the ice.

Viktor looked at him and smirked. “I thought of boys I wanted to impress.” Toshio felt his cheeks turn red and he couldn’t even look up at Viktor at the confession he had made. Of course he knew that there were those people, and Vanessa had told him that Viktor and Chris had been together, but still, it was so strange to hear it from Viktor’s own mouth.

Viktor saw how it affected the boy, but since he had started the camps, it had been something that he was honest about. He didn’t tell the kids, but if it came up, he would explain it to them. Chris and him had lived like a couple, and he thought that it was better to explain it than to try and hide it. It was 1985, the world was open and modern, California was filled with gay people. Viktor didn’t think that it should be a big deal any more.

“Oh,” Toshio said. “Boys are more easily impressed though.” He chuckled and handed Viktor the bottle. Viktor was the best skater of his generation, if he liked men, what did that matter? He was still funny and not at all a pervert as Toshio had heard his classmates say that all homosexuals were at some point. Viktor wasn’t even girly, and Chris didn’t look that way either in the photos Viktor had of him.

Viktor smiled at the boy, not surprised that he took it so well. “They are easier to impress,” he chuckled. “So, you better learn how to do a quad, get back out there.”

 

* * *

 

Toshio didn’t manage to land a clean quad, but he did manage to get all of the rotations in. He always slammed into the ice with his thigh first, but the kid got up again and tried it again and again. Viktor usually leaned towards the rink, watching the boy do it over and over again. He was so determined.

Camp was drawing to an end. Vanessa was heading home a couple of days before Toshio’s flight was scheduled and Viktor asked if he wanted to come with him and drop her off at the airport. Viktor pretended that he didn’t see them holding hands in the backseat and he conveniently slipped away for a couple of minutes at the airport. He let the two kids be kids, they probably promised each other to write to each other and if the romance held on until they both met at a competition they would be overjoyed to see each other. Viktor knew that kind of love too well, and he didn’t want to keep the two from having a proper goodbye. They were barely of age, but what did that matter when you were young.

On the way back, in Viktor’s red, far too flashy convertible, Toshio spoke to him. The wind was blowing through their hair even though Viktor wasn’t speeding. “I want to win the Olympics.” Toshio said.

Viktor nodded. He had heard it before from the boy when he had asked each skater to tell him their dreams and ambitions before he could help them make that dream come true. Toshio had been the first to speak, and it was clear that his dream had been thought through many times in his head. Viktor had liked that confidence. “I know you do,” Viktor said, curious about where the conversation was going to take them.

“I won’t win the Olympics if I can’t do a quad.” Toshio looked up at Viktor, his dark eyes staring at him with determination. The boy loved skating and he loved competing. He had not thought about doing quadruples before Viktor had brought them up, but now he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to win the 1988 Olympic games and he wanted to do it by landing the first quadruple in an Olympic game. “And I won’t be able to do a quad without you Viktor.”

Viktor glanced over at him, just taking his eyes of the road for a moment. Toshio was still looking at him. Viktor hummed a little bit, as to note that he understood what he said.

“You have to become my coach Viktor.” Toshio said those words with the same voice that he said that he wanted to become an Olympic champion. He would not back down until Viktor decided to become his coach. He would not stop begging him, he wouldn’t stop pestering his dad about it either. He would not give up until Viktor was his, and only his, coach.

Viktor chuckled. “What?” he said but then looked at the boy again. He saw how serious Toshio was. The boy had not spoken about it casually, but really meant it. “Well,” Viktor said and looked back towards the road. They would pull off from the highway soon. “Why should I be _your_ coach?”

The question did not take Toshio by surprise, only that it came at that moment. He had thought that he would have to argue with Viktor even more, that he would have to convince him. He had not thought that Viktor would give in so easily.

“I work hard, I have learnt a hell of a lot…”

“Don’t curse,” Viktor said.

“You taught me,” Toshio said, but didn’t ignoring the older man completely. Toshio knew that he should treat Viktor like his master, that he shouldn’t ask for guidance but be happy if Viktor offered it, but he didn’t want to wait around any longer. He wanted to take action. “I have learnt a lot since I came here, and imagine what I will do if you coach me full time. And, if you were to coach me, you’d have to move to Japan, which would be a great adventure.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “ _I’m_ moving to Japan?”

“Dad will never let me move here.” Yuuri’s image appeared in Viktor’s mind. He wasn’t sure of how he felt about it. On one hand he had realised that he still enjoyed talking to Yuuri. Maybe just because they were old friends, because they shared a past, or maybe it was because they really had had something strong, something that could survive 22 years of hibernation. But, was that a good thing? Would moving to Japan and coach Yuuri’s son be good for them? It would be terribly awkward, Viktor could imagine that. But then again, why should it?

He and Yuuri had been a couple two decades ago. Why should it be awkward to be around each other? They weren’t in their twenties, it wasn’t as if there would be any sexual tension between them and their letters to each other had been friendly enough.

Viktor wanted to do something new. And Toshio was very fun to hang around. “Alright,” Viktor said. “I’ll be your coach.” He smiled happily.

“No way!” Toshio yelled, clearly excited. If he had been standing up, he probably would have jumped straight up into the air. But instead he could just laugh and thanked Viktor over and over.

“I’ll have to ask your dad first though,” Viktor reminded the boy.

Toshio nodded. “It won’t be any problem, no problem at all!”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had felt his heart beat. It was the same as when Toshio had called him a couple of months ago and asked if Viktor could become his coach. Yuuri had gone completely silent for a few moments. First he had thought that Toshio was planning on moving to the USA and his voice had nearly cracked when he asked him if that was his intention. Toshio had excitedly laughed and said no, but that Viktor was coming to live with him in Japan.

A cold sweat had clung to Yuuri’s body the whole afternoon. He had said yes. How could he say no? The payment would be handled by the Japanese Skating Federation. His son was going to train under a twice-awarded Olympic gold winner. He could deny him that, and Toshio had jumped into his arms when he had gotten off the flight. He had thanked him and told him about all the new jumps and spins, about how much more flexible he was, about this and that, about Viktor and Viktor and Viktor.

But when the day of Viktor’s arrival was finally there, Yuuri had regretted it. He had told himself the exact same thing as Viktor had. That things wouldn’t be strange, they were just old friends if anything. Viktor was going to live at his own apartment, they would hardly meet each other. The letters that they had been writing to one another that spring and summer had been a reassurance that everything would be fine.

Yuuri liked Viktor, and maybe it would be nice to have a friend.

That was what he thought when he waited outside the airport. Both Toshio and Haruki had been at school so Yuuri had been standing all alone. He had thought of just letting Viktor manage on his own, but figured that it would be rude. So he had quit a few hours earlier that day and made his way down to the airport. Viktor was still dressed properly, a trench coat hanging on his shoulder and enough luggage to last him for years. “Yuuri!” Viktor had said.

They were at an airport again, Yuuri had realised, and this time they wouldn’t just steal glances at each other. They weren’t supposed to do anything else either. Once more it had struck Yuuri how old Viktor was. How old he was himself. “Viktor, it’s nice to see you again.” Yuuri had taken some of his luggage and guided him towards the car. “How are you?”

“I’m feeling wonderful. Japan is beautiful in the autumn and everyone has been so kind to me.”

“I’ll help you get everything in order,” Yuuri had said. “I know I said it over the phone, but I am so happy for Toshio’s sake. I really know how much he wants to have you as his coach.”

Viktor had chuckled. “I’m just the means to an end. I’m not sure how you managed to raise someone with such a stubborn mindset, Yuuri!”

Yuuri had smiled. “He got it after his mother, the confidence as well.”

Viktor had laughed whole heartedly. He could imagine it. They had spoken more of Toshio as they made their way to Viktor’s apartment. “Is it far from where you live?” Viktor asked.

“It’s not that far, and really close to the ice rink,” Yuuri had replied as he smiled against Viktor. The man clearly had money and the apartment he had rented was big and spacious, beautifully decorated. Viktor had liked it as well.

“I hope I’ll be able to cook.” Viktor had glanced over at Yuuri as he stood in the kitchen. The last rays of sunlight had been shining in through the window, and Yuuri who was standing in the middle of the rather empty living room was illuminated by the golden light. Viktor thought that he was still so beautiful, even though he wasn’t young and thin any longer. Viktor had told himself that it was fine to admire his old lover, that it didn’t mean anything, but he also knew that he was trying to flirt with him. “I guess I could just eat out.”

“You can come have dinner with us any time you’d like Viktor,” Yuuri had said and smiled back at him. It had just been a friendly offer, an offer that he would have made to anyone that was new in town, someone that was going to dedicate their life to help his son achieve his dreams.

But it had ended up with Viktor coming over a lot. And while he had first just had dinner together with them before heading home, he had soon started to bring food he had bought when he saw how busy Yuuri was. And then he started to stay a bit, watching the news with Yuuri and trying to learn the language. Some nights they ended up chatting, sometimes just for a couple of minutes and sometimes until Toshio went to bed.

A couple of months went by like that, and Viktor and Yuuri grew closer and closer. The evenings grew longer and longer, and one night Toshio was going to stay over with his friends. “We won’t have practice tomorrow then,” Viktor had said the night before as he sat by the kitchen table, watching Toshio doing the dishes as Yuuri was taking care of the left overs. Haruki usually disappeared up to his room straight after dinner, but even he stayed behind some days.

“You can still come over for dinner though,” Yuuri had said to Viktor.

“Yeah? I could buy something.” Viktor had said and gotten up from his chair. Toshio had yawned. “You still have to do your run and stretches,” Viktor reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Toshio had said and Viktor had said goodnight and left for his own apartment.

But that evening, that evening when Yuuri’s heart was beating hard inside of his chest just the way it had when he had met Viktor at the airport, they were alone at Yuuri’s house. Haruki was at his room, and the sound of the radio had long since gotten turned off, meaning that he had stopped studying. Viktor had bought groceries and cooked for them, and they had had way too much wine. Haruki had eaten at his room, knowing that his dad could need some private life with his old friend. “I have to show you something,” Yuuri said and stood up from the dining room table, were there was empty plates from Viktor’s Russian-American fusion meal. “Come!” Yuuri pulled at Viktor’s hand, who laughed and followed Yuuri upstairs.

It had been a lovely evening for both of them, and they had been talking about old memories. Yuuri ushered Viktor upstairs, giggling a bit as he locked them into his bedroom. “Sit down!” Yuuri said and Viktor put down the wineglass he had brought on a desk, before sitting down at Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri was on his knees in front of the wardrobe, looking through his things. “Look!”

Yuuri handed Viktor two photograph, small, just half the size of a photograph these days. Viktor knew what they were off, and he realised that he had never seen them. He remembered how he had stood in front of the mirror of that hotel, how he had snapped the picture of him kissing Yuuri’s cheek. He remembered it, but he had never seen the pictures. Yuuri had taken the camera back to Japan, and developed the pictures there.

“We were quite handsome,” Viktor laughed and pointed at Yuuri’s face. He wore his hair differently, and his glasses were thicker. They were both so young, and it was a life time ago. “You are still though.” Viktor glanced at Yuuri as he had spoken and as he noticed that the other man was looking back at him, he smiled a little bit and didn’t stop looking at him.

Yuuri looked away first, clearing his throat. “I saved all your letters as well,” he said and moved to sit next to Viktor. The letters were neatly opened, probably with a letter knife and Viktor admired how Yuuri had kept every envelope, how neat it all was. He had slit Yuuri’s letters open.

“I kept them too.” They had had to be left behind though, and had probably been thrown in the trash if they had not been seen as important. He remembered how he had cherished those letters, even if they had been hard to read once Yuuri and him had ended things. If one could call what they had done an ending. “I sent you letters after…” Viktor didn’t know how to talk about it. When he had dealt with it, he had only thought about himself and his own feelings of regret and sadness. Now he thought about how much that he must have hurt Yuuri. And he felt ashamed. Ashamed that he had not realised that Yuuri was struggling with his own things, that it wasn’t only him that was going to leave things behind all those years ago.

But what could he say. He couldn’t apologize, it would sound so small and it was too late.

“I have never hurt so much as when you left me,” Yuuri said and stared at the photograph. “I thought of killing myself. I thought that I wasn’t enough for you.” Yuuri could feel the tears burn in the corner of his eyes.

Viktor looked at the beautiful man. Then he leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I wish that I had gone with you.”

Their eyes met. Viktor smiled, it was a sad smile, a smile for all the moments that they had lost. Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss Viktor.

It was the wine, or maybe that they were both alone, that they had lost someone close to them. Maybe it was because Viktor was in a foreign country. Yuuri could come up with hundreds of explanations of why he let himself fall back into Viktor’s hands. That he let Viktor undress him, that his lips kissed Viktor’s naked skin. That they embraced each other. If he tried to blame the wine, he had to take into account that he had not been drunk enough to not ask Viktor if he was healthy. Viktor had looked up at him and nodded, saying that he had taken the test that March, that he must have been lucky. That he was not sick. Yuuri had bent down over him and kissed him. There was hundreds of reasons, maybe they were just old and desperate, maybe they were both starved of attention, of touch. Most likely it was the wine though.

Afterwards, as he laid naked next to Viktor, he knew that it was because it felt right. Because it had been wonderful, because Viktor was still Viktor even after 22 years. That even if they were both different persons now, at the core, they still were the same as they once had been. Viktor lazily stroked his hair again, and how Yuuri had missed it. “Should I go?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri only shook his head.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to stop once things had started. The next morning, Yuuri had acted awkwardly, but so had Viktor, who had hurried away not to be there when Toshio came back. Viktor was able to not concentrate on their meeting when he met Toshio again and it was easier than he had thought it would be.

Nor did things become strange when Viktor came to dinner the next time. They ended up spending more and more time together, not only did Viktor came over almost every evening, they ate dinner, watched TV, talked to each other as they relaxed in the living room. At first, Yuuri didn’t want to have sex anywhere near his home and they would meet each other at Viktor’s place. Yuuri made excuses about going out with the dog, but he spent an hour at Viktor’s place instead, and when he came back, he couldn’t look his kids into the eyes. Neither of them asked anything, but Haruki suspected that his dad was seeing someone.

After a  few weeks, they started sleeping together  at Yuuri’s place when they thought that Toshio and Haruki was asleep. Sometimes they didn’t even have sex, but just laid together in the bed, talking and cuddling with each other. It was so nice to have time. To have all the time in the world. They didn’t need to rush, and if they did, they knew that they could meet each other the next day. Viktor would leave in the dead of night and Yuuri worried that Toshio or Haruki had heard something, that they knew something. But the boys didn’t say anything and spoke as nicely of Viktor as always.

It was awkward and a secret. But Yuuri was an adult now and he knew that if he didn’t hurt anyone, he could do whatever he wanted with Viktor. Having sex, feeling loved and being with Viktor wasn’t going to harm anyone. Maybe it would disgust his sons, his family, the society that he lived in. But he wasn’t going to let that come out, he was just going to pretend that him and Viktor were great friends.

One day, Toshio finally landed the quad. Viktor made a big deal out of it, he had cheered at him at the ice, sliding out on it. Yuuri had been called and prompted to come and watch it, and after work, he had gone down to do so. Haruki had even come down to the rink. It wasn’t perfect yet and it Toshio fell a few times but performed it in front of his dad, landing gracefully on the ice, but as soon as it was done, he . “That’s awesome, Toshio!” Haruki said, nodding with approval. “The physics behind that though, right dad?”

“One day he’ll do it with his arms raised!” Viktor was still excited, and still stood on the ice. He wasn’t wearing skates, he just stood there because he didn’t know what to do.

Haruki had leaned over the rink and started talking about centrifugal force, and Viktor had looked back at Yuuri with a smile on his lips.

Yuuri was so happy, happier than he had been in years. And Toshio was happy. Haruki was happy. That night, Viktor and Yuuri spent in his bed again, and while Yuuri was happy, he still checked the lock twice, and he made sure that Viktor left.

But he really wanted him to stay.


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t only hard to hide, it was stressful. Yuuri often thought back on his younger self and he wondered how he had been gutsy enough to walk through an Olympic village at the dead of night, when he kept looking over his shoulder every time he left Viktor’s apartment.

Now, it wasn’t even that strange that they wanted to spend time together. Two adult men, with their own lives and a joint past spending time together wasn’t anything that anyone would think twice about. There was also the fact that Viktor, as a coach to Yuuri’s son, had a reason to spend time with Yuuri. They could be talking about that. When alone they talked about so many things. In fact, most that they did was talking, even when Viktor came over each and every evening, they could spend hours each day just talking to each other.

There was always something in the newspaper, something that had happened. The summer came faster than anyone had thought it would, Toshio making through the season without any hiccups and winning the Japanese Nationals, ending up at a second place at the worlds. As a junior. Viktor was excited about Toshio’s first season as a senior skater, and Yuuri was worrying about Haruki who had gotten into Tokyo University. That his oldest son was leaving the nest wasn’t easy and if felt as if things were changing.

They were all good changes, he did know that, and overall he felt very happy. Viktor became a normal part of their life. On Sunday mornings, he would knock on their door, always having an excuse that he had passed a bakery that morning and just had to buy some bread, or that he had witnessed some incredible event that he had to tell Yuuri about.

Yuuri would always invite him to sit down, asked him if he would like some tea. They’d speak about the bakery or the boy that had fallen off the bike. Haruki would sit in his pyjamas reading the newspaper, he would always throw out the culture part, placing it in the empty space around the round table. Viktor would always pick it up once he had finished telling his story and Yuuri would listen to the radio, there was always a quiz show on, with Toshio as Haruki and Viktor both read the paper. They didn’t talk much, but Yuuri knew that he would miss Viktor if he one day didn’t turn up for their Sunday breakfasts together.

Haruki would usually go and meet his friends. Toshio would go for a run or possibly just for a walk with the dog if the weather was nice enough. When Yuuri and Viktor were alone, they would usually end up in Yuuri’s bedroom, and they were always in a slight hurry to get their clothes back on when they heard someone coming home.

It was one of those mornings, in August, when Viktor had come through the door with danishes. He had apparently been very surprised that they even sold danishes in Japan of all places and Yuuri had nodded at every word that he had said. Haruki had glanced over the paper, over at Toshio who drummed his fingers against the table and rolled his eyes towards Haruki. They had not said anything, but they knew. Haruki had told Toshio, who had been oblivious to it, several months ago. They had all been watching some tv-show about the Soviet Union and Haruki had insisted that Toshio came with him. His brother had groaned and unwillingly came with him. “What is it?” he had asked.

“I just wanted to leave them alone, Viktor was nearly crying and you could see how dad wanted to comfort him.” Toshio had looked confused, and Haruki had had to explain it to him.

And now, a few months later, when everything had become a farce, when his dad pretended that danishes were a rare commodity at bakeries, Haruki couldn’t stand it any longer. He put down the newspaper and sighed heavily.  “This is getting ridiculous,” Haruki laughed. The night before his father had sat on his bed and lectured him on what he should think about when he moved to a student dorm in Tokyo. It was obvious that he was having bigger problems than himself. “Dad, do you like Viktor?”

Yuuri’s response came before he could think. “No! Of course I don’t…” the two seconds it had taken to say those words Yuuri thought and changed his mind. “I mean, he is a friend of mine and…”

“Dad, we know.” Toshio had been the one to speak, and the fifteen-year-old looked rather unimpressed with the two adults in his life.

Viktor looked at Yuuri who sat completely still.

“You know Itsuki?” Haruki asked and Yuuri nodded. Itsuki, one of Haruki’s friends from the astronomy club, the kid with the glasses bigger than his face. “Well he’s together with Hachirou.” The other friend from Haruki’s astronomy club. Yuuri shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “I don’t mind, I mean, I don’t want you to…” Haruki waved his hands around, not sure what to say.

“Be gross,” Toshio filled in.

“Don’t call them gross,” Haruki said and Toshio smiled apologetically towards Viktor.

The Russian looked at the two children. He couldn’t imagine that he had done anything bad. Anything revealing. Quite frankly, he thought that he had been very sneaky. “I know what you mean, loving affections is reserved for the youth,” the man said with a chuckle

Yuuri looked over at Viktor. “Viktor.” He didn’t know what else to say but he would prefer it if the man stayed silent. Haruki looked at his dad, and hoped that he had not been too rash. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Haruki knew his dad had been lonely after their mother had passed away, and while he had not imagined that he was… _like that_ , he didn’t mind it. And Toshio didn’t either, in fact he thought that it was great and would think about how it would be to have someone as great as Viktor as a step-father. “Maybe you should leave Viktor.”

Viktor nodded as he looked into Yuuri’s eyes. He should leave the man be alone with his children for a little while. He had things he had to explain. “Why? He can stay, it’s not weird dad,” Haruki said.

“No, no, I’ll go. I think that you have quite a lot to discuss.” Viktor got up from the chair and gave Yuuri a kind smile before he left.

Yuuri wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It was a mix between utter despair and relief. He had been anxious the past couple of months. He had been anxious his whole life. He had been hiding it his whole life. And now his children knew. He thought he had been so careful.

“I always loved your mother,” he began. “I love her still, she will…” he fell silent, the words stuck in his throat

“We know,” Haruki said.

Yuuri needed a moment to collect himself. Toshio smiled at him. “Tell us, I want to know how you met.”

Yuuri closed his eyes and took a deep breathe. “We met in 1959, and I think fell for each other straight away.”

 

* * *

 

Calgary was a cold city. Viktor had been there before, but Yuuri had not. Toshio had begged for his father to be there, he didn’t want him to witness his impending victory through a television screen. He wanted his father to see it. But he had regretted it as he had reached the city. He was only 17, and his father fussed over him all the time, refusing to treat him like the adult that he was soon to be.

The trail to the 1988 Olympics had been an adventure in itself. Toshio worried that he would only come second to the Italian, to the great Celestino Cialdini whom he still admired. He was just a few years older than Toshio and while Viktor claimed that they were equally skilled, the other skater’s victory over him at the World Championships that year had made Toshio uncharacteristically worried.

“You shouldn’t be worried. Olympic games are different from a World Championship,” Viktor said as they were having breakfast together the morning before the men’s short program. “Right, Yuuri?”

Yuuri had nodded. “Yes, very different. Since you only have two chances in your career, maybe three if you were born in a good year, everyone is anxious. You were just a few points behind him.”

Toshio had his face buried in his hands and Viktor looked over at Yuuri who was biting down on his lip. “Be happy that you won’t have to do any figures! That’s a nice bonus.” They were no longer mandatory in the sport, and Toshio had been thrilled hearing about it, but not so thrilled when Viktor still insisted that more than 60% of his time on the ice was still to be spent doing figures.

Toshio had won the Japanese nationals the same year that he became a senior, and since he had kept on winning. He had been practicing his jumps, especially the quad and this year it was the first time that he had incorporated into a program. It was in his long program, right after the mark of the second half of his program. He had botched it in the ’88 worlds, touching one hand down into the ice and such lost to Cialdini who had skated a clean program with just triple jumps. Toshio had landed the quad in the Japanese nationals, and was such the first person to ever successfully do a quad jump in a competition.

Now he just needed to do it at the Olympics. He had to win the Olympics. “I fucking hate figures,” he mumbled. “Viktor, should we not practice today anyway?”

Viktor shook his head. “No, we should not practice, we should relax after you have gone for your run.”

 

* * *

 

Toshio had skated to _The Sleeping Beauty_ by Tchaikovsky. Viktor and Yuuri had watched the ballet when it had been put together by the opera house in Saga, and Viktor had loved the music, and played the record as often as he could, as if he was making a hint to Toshio that he thought that he should skate to it. It had not been until Haruki pointed out that he quite liked the melody of it, that Toshio had agreed on skating to it.

Viktor had been so excited, that he didn’t care that Toshio was skating his free skate to some soundtrack to an American adventure movie. He had been too into designing his costume, a new thing that Viktor adored. He often told Yuuri how dreary it had been having to perform in plain suits, and he would put colour and ruffles on anything that Toshio allowed him too. But the free skate was Toshio’s brain child.

He had finished on first place after the short program, and Viktor had shaken his shoulders as he stepped off the ice, having preformed a clean, perfect program. Toshio had nearly cried in his pink outfit as he sat next to Viktor in the kiss and cry, another thing that Viktor adored and often said that he wished that they had had when _they_ skated.

It was time for the free skate. Yuuri had decided to sit on the stands, instead of being with Toshio. He hardly needed his father now, he needed his coach and that was what Viktor was. A calm point in all the turmoil the boy had to be feeling. Yuuri would simply made him more nervous. He could guess how the boy felt, but Viktor knew exactly. Yuuri had never expected to win the Olympics, Viktor had always stepped on the ice with expectation, and burden, of winning.

“I won’t do it. I should take it out.” Viktor knew what the boy was talking about, with a quivering voice, he was talking about the quad. Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder and only smiled at him. “Viktor, please.” Toshio swallowed loudly.

“Tell me what will happen after you step of the ice. Visualize it.”

Toshio closed his eyes. “I’ll get 6.0 from every judge. I’ll win a gold medal.”

Viktor smiled. “And you will win it even if you mess up the quad, because he is too many points behind and the base value of a failed quad toe loop is better than anything he has planned. You just have to skate through the program with confidence and artistry. Just like you always do.”

Toshio nodded but he still stared into Viktor’s eyes. The skater, a very talented South Korean (South, Viktor reminded himself, South were the good ones) was just finishing up and it would soon be Toshio’s time to skate. Viktor gently slapped the boy’s cheek, just hard enough for him to get back to reality. “It’s time, Toshio.”

 

* * *

 

“So, what do you do when a childhood dream is fulfilled?” Toshio could feel his fathers warm, loving gaze on him from across the room. Yuuri had rushed down the stairs as soon as his son had stepped of the ice after a perfectly clean program. Viktor had been ecstatic at the kiss and cry, and squeezed Toshio’s hand as if it had been his own points that were being presented. All but one judge gave him a 6.

He had won.

And now he was talking to his brother on a transatlantic line, in the bedroom of his hotel room, his brother’s voice distant and echoing. “I am so happy.” Toshio was still crying, and he had not even been at the ceremony yet. He wondered how much he would cry then, when the weight of the heavy gold was placed against his chest.

“How’s dad and Viktor?” Haruki asked. He was so proud of his younger brother, his chest almost felt like bursting. “I wish I was there.”

Toshio chuckled, wiping away his tears. “Viktor is so happy, dad is… shocked I think.” The boy blew his nose. “I am the youngest one since the 1920’s, Haruki, and the quad too! Cialdini congratulated me and I felt so proud.”

“You should be, Toshio, you really should!”

 

* * *

 

”What does rodo kumi-aj mean?”

Yuuri looked up from the book he was reading. Viktor was sitting, leaned back in the sofa, his leg crossed over the other, the faint light of Yuuri’s light reaching him. Even though it was summer again, it was already dark outside. “Rōdō kumiai?” Yuuri had only briefly been listening to the news that was being read up by the news anchor. “Trade union.”

Viktor nodded and returned to watching. He was getting better at Japanese each day, but there was still some terms that he stumbled upon, but it made sense when he thought about it. He knew what rōdō was after all. The poodle laid below Yuuri’s feet, and on the living room table laid several documents, work that Yuuri had taken home with him. Viktor always told him that he shouldn’t strain himself in the way that he did. Yuuri never listened.

“I’m going to bed!” Viktor turned his head back towards the kitchen. Toshio was already in his pyjamas.

“Already?” Viktor looked down on the watch on his wrist, even though he was looking at the ten o’clock news.

Toshio nodded and went up to his father, jokingly patting his head. “Got a test tomorrow, so I want to be well-rested. Did Haruki say anything earlier?”

Yuuri shook his head, the book now resting in his lap. “The same old. Books are expensive, the library is his sanctuary and everyone else pay far too much attention to tennis.” Viktor chuckled. “If he knew, he would have wished you good luck.”

“It’s just for history, it will go well,” Toshio said and yawned. “Well, goodnight!”

“Don’t forget, it’s 3 minutes of jogging, 1.30 of running,” Viktor reminded him of the new running regime they were trying out. Toshio patted Viktor’s arm, that was draped over the backrest on his way past him, “Yes, yes Viktor,” he said and got upstairs.

Viktor stroked a hand through his hair and returned to watching the news, and he was glad to see that the trade unions were doing rather well. He knew it was awfully socialist of him, but he did sometimes still think that the things his home country had taught him about the harshness of capitalism had been true. The Motherland had just not been the solution.

After the news there was a segment on a Japanese artist from the late 18th century who had painted landscapes. Mostly mountains. Mostly in the spring as the pink clouds representing cherry blossoms beneath grey, imposing mountains told. Viktor watched it intensively, not only for the lesson in Japanese but for the beauty of the art.

“It’s getting late,” Yuuri said and put down the bookmark. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“I’m just going to finish this.” Viktor said, his eyes fixed on the screen. Yuuri took the book with him to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, changed into his pyjamas all while being followed by the dog. It was a new dog, and they still treated it as a puppy after their previous dog had passed a few years ago It had been hard not to let the dog sleep in the bed, and the argument of instead keeping his bed in the master bedroom had been one that Yuuri won. He drew the curtains and crawled down into the warm, soft bed, only to open his book again.

He didn’t even hear Viktor getting ready. How he brushed his teeth, used the bathroom, got dressed. “Could you get me a glass of water?” Yuuri asked as he felt Viktor sit down on the bed, only to stand up and get out into the kitchen again. Yuuri thanked him when he was handed the glass of cold water. He only took a sip. “Was it interesting?”

“It was passionate,” Viktor kicked off his slippers before getting into the bed. He laid down, yawned, and grabbed the book from his nightstand. He had only read one chapter, and it wasn’t in bed. He still opened it, but it soon laid against his chest, the pages unread. He stared up into the ceiling, thinking about routines, muscle mass and what he should do tomorrow at the ice rink. He thought about how lucky he had been. How everything had worked out in the end. His thumb gently tapped against the book cover, and then he looked up at Yuuri, who was reading as intensively as before.

“Yuuri.”

“Yes?”

Viktor smiled to himself. “Yuuri, do you remember that you said we’d never have a family?” He reached up to tuck a strand of hair back behind Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri didn’t stop looking down into the book. “No, when did I say that?”

 _Cortina d’Ampezzo, the championships of 1963._ “It doesn’t matter.” Viktor turned in the bed, laying down on his side, hugging the book close to his chest. He looked up at Yuuri, who was ignoring him, trying to read just a few more pages until he had to accept that he had to sleep.

“Mhm,” Yuuri hummed, but he had not really listened.

Viktor smiled to himself, laying still as he watched Yuuri. He was in his bed. In their bed. He had not been invited, he didn’t have to leave. He had ended up next to the other man because of routine, because of the dreary dullness of everyday life. Earlier that evening he had washed the dishes, Yuuri had cooked the dinner. He had not had to perform at a competition to be in this bed that evening. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last time.

Everything was as it should be. As he had wanted it to be.

Everything was fine, and completely, uninterestingly enough, normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I really hope you liked it. I really enjoyed writing it.  
> Thanks to all the lovely comments I've gotten, it's been really warming to read them and know people like the story! :)


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